Finding A Place
by WerewolfWarrior2015
Summary: ABANDONED - see A/N in Ch 8,9. Lily survives the attack on Godric's Hollow, but wakes up to a world where her son is not the little baby she once knew, and where her former schoolyard nemesis seems to be up to something very sinister and deeply disturbing. And a world where magic itself seems to be dying.
1. Prologue

_A/N: The characters in the story are the property of J K Rowling. A minor note about this story - this was previously posted on another FF website under the title 'Dragon Lily', but I took it down for several reasons; this, however, is a newer version of the story - the pairings probably won't be the same, but the thread of the story shall definitely follow the same winding path that the previous version did.  
_

 **Prologue**

 _Halloween, 1981 at Godric's Hollow_

Lily froze in place. She started breathing in spurts, loud and heavy, and shivering uncontrollably. With gritted teeth and a shuddering wand, she wove a web of magic around her with frantic movements and pushed runes into place on the wooden floor.

James was no longer screaming, but his voice seemed to reverberate in her mind, tearing at her consciousness with panic-stricken claws.

 _TAKE HARRY AND GO!_

She whimpered, and then fell silent at once. The house seemed to be quivering in stifling stillness – no sounds of struggle, no hum of wards. The very air around her seemed to cringe and hang suspended in fear – a fell silence. And then… footsteps began to ascend the stairway. She felt her hair stand on end.

 _No, please, no… no, no, no…_

And then the footsteps stopped just outside her door. Lily spun around and faced the door, her trembling wand pointed right at the entrance to her bedroom.

"No, no, no, no," she chanted feverishly.

She glanced wildly to her left and beheld her little boy peering up at her from his cradle – his wide green eyes gazing up at her own, which were brimming with tears.

She had to do this. _For Harry_.

And then the silence burst to give way to a loud _boom_ as the door burst into pieces.

"NO!" Lily screamed, and cast a shield around Harry. Pieces of wood tore into her skin and flew by, but splashed harmlessly against her shield. _Harry was safe_.

Lily frantically wiped blood from her face and stared at the terrible apparition that had appeared in their home. In _her_ home.

"No, please," she pleaded frantically, "No, not Harry, take me… please… not Harry…"

"Step aside, foolish girl," the apparition said, in a high-pitched voice that sent a chill down her spine.

"Please," she muttered, dropping to her knees, and not letting go of her wand. A _thread_ of magic seemed to sizzle in place, connecting her to her son. She tensed in anticipation.

And then, another voice joined in the commotion, bursting into the bedroom and pulling at her arms. Frantically, Lily looked around with tear-stained eyes, hoping, _pleading_ for a rescuer, only to feel the ground fall away from her as she looked upon her other unwelcome guest.

Amid the ruins of the bedroom stood a man she _reviled_ with all her heart. Beetle black eyes glimmered beneath greasy hair as she looked into the face of a very fearful Severus Snape. He was gasping for breath.

"My lord!" a frantic voice screamed, "Lily! Please! Listen to the Dark Lord!"

"NO!" she screamed, trying to tear her hand out of his grasp.

"Lily! James is _dead_!" Severus yelled at her, "I am your _only_ salvation!"

Lily pursed her lips and a curse burst out of her wand, slamming into place between her and Severus, _tearing_ her arm out of his grasp.

"You… you _dare_ ," she spat at him, "You _dare_ …"

"Enough," Voldemort whispered, and the room grew chilly, all at once, as if all that was once good and holy was draining away. Lily's breath came out in cold wisps and she trembled, cowering before Voldemort.

"Please…" she said, just as Severus whispered, "Lily…"

"Severus," the Dark Lord rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, "You have disobeyed me."

"My Lord… I…" Severus said frantically, and Lily slowly backed away, towards her little Harry.

"My orders are binding, Severus," Voldemort said coldly, and casually waved his wand so that it pointed right at Severus. "Nonetheless, I would be willing to forgive you, Severus… if it were not for one little… caveat.

The colour seemed to drain from Severus' face as he backed away, towards the far wall of the bedroom.

"My Lord… I…" Severus repeated, only for his voice to fail him as the Dark Lord's eyes seemed to flash. Lily desperately tried to raise her wand, but her hand seemed to be paralysed be the sheer _power_ that seemed to fill the air around the Dark Lord.

"Ah, you know where I'm going with this, I suppose," Voldemort said casually, his eyes flashing for a moment towards a crouching Lily, "I suppose you saw the little… ritual… I performed outside this house, did you not?"

Severus seemed to hesitate for a split second. Then, all at once, words tumbled out of his mouth. "My Lord… I… I… some sort of blood ritual. I… did not recognize it. I do not…"

"But you _did_ see me do something you should not have," Voldemort said, "Something that is no doubt beyond you at this very moment.

"Nonetheless, you are a _clever_ wizard. One with the resources and the prowess to find out exactly what sort of… ritual… that was."

"My Lord, I submit myself to a Memory Charm," Severus said frantically, "Please… spare me… I have been your faithful servant…"

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Voldemort said abruptly, pointing his wand straight at Severus.

There was no time to recoil, no time to mourn her oldest former friend. Lily instinctively threw her wand out, binding the ritual she had been working on to _Severus_ instead of her – perhaps, by instinct, or some small nudge by the hands of fate.

Then, the Dark Lord brought his wand to bear on her.

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," he said.

And she knew no more.

* * *

 _A few hours later at Privet Drive, Surrey_

"She would not want this, Albus," Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry said to the Headmaster of the same school, "Lily would not have… I don't think… I don't think she's ever even _mentioned_ her sister."

They were walking away from Number Four, Privet Drive, where they had just entrusted little Harry Potter to the care of one Petunia Dursley - Lily's sister - enveloped by the best protection charms and wards they could place on the infant.

Albus Dumbledore sighed. "Lily never spoke of her sister with malice, Minerva," he said, "Harry is Petunia's nephew. I'm afraid I'm not quite convinced Lily and her sister were on less than cordial terms."

"I don't know, Albus," Minerva said hesitantly, "What did the will say? The Potters must have had a will, right?"

"The will entrusted him to the care of Sirius Black," Albus said, frowning.

"Of course!" Minerva said, her eyes lighting up, "Give him to Sirius!"

"Minerva," Albus said, cutting her off sharply, "The Potters were living under a Fidelius Charm. Who do you believe was their Secret Keeper?"

Minerva furrowed her eyebrows as she connected the dots. And then she gasped. "Sirius?" she asked, stupefied, "No… never… I…"

"Indeed," Albus sighed, "I'm trying to get a hold of the young man as we speak, Minerva. Alastor and Cornelius are on his trail – we can only hope that Voldemort merely found a way to circumvent the protection. Or perhaps, he wrung it out of Sirius through some fearsome magic."

Minerva stared, wide-eyed, at Albus. "Sirius _must_ be innocent, Albus," she insisted.

Albus nodded at her morosely.

"So James is…?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"The aurors swept the area, Minerva," Albus said, "James has… passed on."

" _Merlin_."

"And so has Severus."

" _That_ still confounds me, Albus. What was Severus doing there? Wasn't he supposed to be working for us?" Minerva asked, "Did he not defect to you?"

Albus looked up at the stars and sighed heavily. "I do not control him, Minerva," he said, "I never did – not even when he was a promising young wizard that followed the wrong crowd and I was in a position of power as Headmaster of the school.

"Nonetheless, I kept him under close watch, and yet he eluded me this night. More than ever, it truly reminds me how vulnerable I truly am, and how far from omniscient I really am… but it _does_ appear that he managed to pull a fair amount of wool over my eyes. Or perhaps not – perhaps he was trying to prevent Lord Voldemort from massacring the Potters and got caught in the crossfire."

"Who… who was it that…?" Minerva asked.

"His death came of Voldemort's wand," Albus replied, "Which obviously does not make this mysterious sequence of events any easier to fathom."

"But if he died at the Dark Lord's hand," Minerva asked, her voice rising with hope, "Surely that must mean he was trying to help the Potters?"

"Does it?" Dumbledore asked, still staring up at the sky, while running his fingers through his beard, "Or does it mean that Severus was working for Voldemort, but lost his will at the last minute when Lily was about to die? And if he truly were on our side, why did he not alert the Order, Minerva? Why did he not tell _me_?"

"I… see," Minerva said, after a short pause.

They walked together to the very end of the short street and turned to each other.

"But… Lily," Minerva asked tentatively, "Is she…?"

Albus furrowed his brow as he pondered the question. "I do not know, Minerva," he said, "She appears to be in a certain… limbo, as it were. Neither alive, nor dead. She seems to be teetering on the very brink of what we would call a coma… but it's so much more than just a mere coma. She seems to alternate between the two, blinking in and out of tangibility."

"Tangibility?" Minerva breathed.

"At times," Albus said, "The healers claimed they could pass their hands right through her body. She seems to be _winking_ in and out of existence, Minerva."

"Merlin!"

"Indeed."

"It's a precarious situation," Minerva said, "Sirius a betrayer… perhaps. Severus a traitor… perhaps. Lily is alive… perhaps."

"Which is why it's important for Harry to be _safe_ with people that care for him," Albus said fervently.

"And yet," Minerva said, "I cannot help but feel that when Lily wakes up… _if_ she wakes up… she's going to be really, _really_ mad."

* * *

 _29 May, 1993 at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Janus Thickey Ward_

Miriam Strout, Healer in charge of the ward for long-term residents of St Mungo's had just finished shepherding poor Frank Longbottom back to his bed when her trainee – Jane Delaney – came rushing to her side and started tugging at her sleeve.

Miriam sighed as she finally managed to wrench the curtain shut around a whimpering Alice Longbottom, who was _begging_ her for more bubblegum wrappers, and turned around to face a very red-faced Jane. "What?" she asked in a harried tone, "What is it?"

Jane just caught her wrist in an iron grip and physically _pulled_ her to face the bed of a long-term comatose patient within the ward.

The curtains, which were usually wrenched close unless someone wanted to go in or out, were now wide open. And a very wide-awake Lily Potter was staring groggily at both Miriam and Jane.

"Merlin," Miriam whispered, "It actually _worked_. Dumbledore's cure actually _worked_. She's _awake_!"


	2. The First Domino

The sun had barely risen, but the two boys were already trundling across the hill, away from a field littered with colourful tents.

"I _really_ appreciate the fact that your dad got us tickets to the entire Quidditch World Cup, Ron," Harry muttered to Ron, "But I'm not entirely sure I appreciate _this_ part."

"It's character-building stuff," Ron muttered just as morosely, "Or so they say. And to be fair, it's hardly my dad's fault. You want to blame someone, look no further than your very own godfather."

"Oi!" Harry said, as he playfully swatted at Ron.

"Honestly!" Ron protested, "All the man has to do is perform an _Aguamenti_. How hard is that? But _no_ , Sirius just has to order to us to walk across a bloody hill to fetch a pail of water."

"Always liked that rhyme," Harry said, going over the _Jack and Jill_ tune in his head, "Honestly though, I think Sirius just wants to… er…"

Ron clenched his fist and moved it up and down crudely. "Yeah," he said, "A good thing his silencing charms are as good as he says they are."

Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were camped in Ireland for the first part of their Quidditch tour – Arthur Weasley had got them a pass to travel with the British World Cup Officials supervising the entire event. The World Cup was being hosted by the United Kingdom, Ireland and France, and as such, the initial part of the contest – the league matches – were taking place in isolated moors in Ireland and Scotland. On Ron's insistence, they chose to stay in Ireland – the English Quidditch Team had been placed in a Group A, which would play out its matches in Ireland.

It had been quite a task, convincing their guardians to let them go for the Quidditch tour – initially, the Weasleys had just planned to go for the final, but after much pleading, they had relented. Nonetheless, Sirius Black had been coerced (though, in Harry's opinion, it didn't take much coercion at all) to accompany them.

Only, Sirius Black was a dog, both literally and metaphorically. With much to make up for due to his years of incarceration at Azkaban, Sirius brought a witch every night to their tent – only, he tried to hide it from Ron and Harry. And hiding it, so to speak, involved Sirius persuading Harry and Ron to go across the hill to the nearest well to "fetch water the muggle way" while he snuck the woman home.

For their part, Harry and Ron pretended Sirius' ruse was working. They tried bringing up the fact that they knew Sirius was using their tent to get to third base (or more) with the women he brought home, but Sirius always managed to shush them up and went mysteriously deaf. "I am a responsible adult and a role model to you young 'uns," Sirius would say, puffing out his chest as Harry and Ron went into an uncontrollable coughing fit, "It ill behoves someone of my stature to bring women home like a Knockturn Alley regular."

Harry had to admit that Sirius was a little funny, and Harry did enjoy his walks through the camp – full of Quidditch fans from different parts of the world. And truth be told, he would rather not be privy to his godfather's life of debauchery, as entertaining as it was. Besides, Sirius deserved to have some fun – he had suffered too much, from what his mother had told him.

"It's… nice that Sirius got out, y'know," Ron said quietly, echoing Harry's thoughts, "He deserves to screw around a bit."

"Yeah," Harry said, "He does."

"I'm still amazed all that happened," Ron said, looking away into the distance at the rising sun peeking over the top of the hill, casting a hazy orange glow over them, "Your mom waking up, the way she cleared up Sirius' name… she's a bloody hero."

Harry smiled proudly. "That she is," he said, "And somehow, she managed to complete her Potions Professorship over it all."

"Yeah," Ron said, "Barely been a year, hasn't it?"

"She awoke at the end of our second year," Harry muttered, "Apparently, she woke up when… we were down in that bloody chamber."

Ron shuddered. "Blimey," he said in a hushed voice, "I didn't know that. That's… amazing. And a weird coincidence."

"It _is_ amazing though," Harry echoed, "A year ago, I was just some weird kid living in Surrey. In the space of a month, my mom had returned, she had adopted me, and freed my dad's best friend from his prison."

"And don't forget imprisoning the _true_ traitor," Ron said darkly.

"Yeah," Harry said, running a hand through his hair, "I was trying to avoid that topic."

Ron looked a bit queasy. "To think Scabbers was an animagus… I… ugh… he slept in a _cage_ in my _bedroom_ , Harry!"

"He was in our _dorm_ , Ron," Harry said.

"Ugh," Ron finished.

"Indeed," Harry rejoined.

They walked in silence for a while.

Then Ron faced him again as they reached the peak of the hill.

"So," the redhead asked, "Slughorn is retiring this year?"

"Yup," Harry said, "Mum's the Potions Professor starting this year. Seeing as how she completed her professorship and all."

 _Mum_. Harry marveled at the word – he had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined that he would _ever_ use that word. A single syllable that turned back a world of loss. A woman he had given up all hope of seeing alive and whole. Harry hadn't even known his own mother was alive for the first eleven years of his life – until he was told, by Hagrid (who introduced him to the wizarding world), that his mother was in a state of magical limbo at a wizarding hospital.

And then, he had suffered through _that_ knowledge – his mother was... had been... flitting in and out of death for more than a decade. That is, until Dumbledore managed to procure the Philosopher's Stone and keep it at Hogwarts to find a way to cure Lily Potter. Once again, Harry had begun to hope. But then, the Stone had to be destroyed – Harry himself had protected the stone from a shade of the Dark Lord that had possessed his former Defense Professor.

Nonetheless, Dumbledore had persisted. During the second year, despite the threat of a basilisk (that Harry had slain) and despite being thrown out of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore had still managed to concoct a cure for Lily Potter from the remnants of the Stone.

And, like an avenging angel straight out of his childhood dreams of being reunited with his long-lost relatives – relatives who _loved_ him and _cared_ for him – his mother had come and freed him from the tyranny of the Dursleys. There had been no climactic confrontation though – his mother just turned up at Platform Nine and Three Quarters and picked him up from the train. She had kissed his cheek, embraced him with teary eyes and told him he would never have to go back to the Dursleys' again.

Harry smiled happily and hummed a little tune as he followed Ron through the meadow.

* * *

Professor McGonagall nodded imperiously at Lily Potter, albeit with a fond smile on her face.

"Well, Lily," she said, "Looks like you've got the hang of things at Hogwarts. You're good to go, Professor Potter."

Lily smiled and nodded right back.

"However," Minerva said, before Lily could get ready to leave the Deputy Headmistress' office, "I was hoping to catch up with you, Lily. Acquaintance to acquaintance, as it were. I haven't quite had the opportunity, with you scrambling around to get your cherished Professorship and everything."

Lily laughed. "I've heard that a lot this past year," she said, "Also, ' _acquaintance to acquaintance'_? And here I thought we were friends, Minerva."

Minerva smiled. "Of course," she said, "But I've seen far too less of you these past two years."

"I've had a lot of catching up to do," Lily rejoined.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "I admire your tenacity, Lily," she said, "There are very few individuals that could shrug off a magical coma like it was nothing and still possess enough drive to continue their decade-old ambitions like nothing happened in between."

"Thank you," Lily began, but Minerva cut her off.

"Now that you've admitted I'm your friend, Lily," Minerva said, her tone hesitant, if a bit firm, "I believe I can say this with relative impunity – my intention was not to praise you. I do respect your drive and ambition, and your treatment of your reprieve from… _existence_ … as if it were nothing. However, there is a downside to that attitude that I believe you're not quite seeing."

Minerva paused, as if she expected Lily to respond angrily.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying, Minerva," Lily said, entirely confused.

Minerva lifted up the teapot that was sitting on the table between them and refilled her cup. She sipped, and then said mildly, "Those thirteen years of absence meant something to a lot of people, Lily. Especially to Harry."

Lily flushed. "I…," she stammered.

"I don't mean to rail against you," Minerva said hastily, "I merely meant to ask you if you did… make time for him in between your admirable pursuit of your own goals."

"Did Harry say something to you?" Lily asked.

Minerva placed her teacup back on the saucer and leaned back in her chair, looking at an uncertain Lily Potter.

"Lily, look, I'm no mother," Minerva said with a sigh, "So I suppose it is a bit presumptuous of me to bring this up. However, I _am_ a warden, of sorts.

"And to answer your question: no. Harry didn't say a word. He never does, Lily – that's my point. He's… not had an easy childhood, from what little I know of him."

"What?" Lily breathed, "What do you mean?"

"Have you visited Petunia since you got Harry back?" Minerva asked sharply.

"I called her," Lily said, "You know… over the telephone. She seemed as distant as ever, if a bit shocked at my revival. But I didn't quite get around to… I didn't… I had so much to do…"

Minerva shifted uneasily in her seat. "Right," she said, "Again, I don't _know_ – but that's what concerns me. That neither you, nor I, know exactly what went on in the Dursley household. I'm not alleging that Harry went through horrific abuse at the place, or something along those lines. However, before you decided to take Harry in and greet him at the railway station, Albus had Rubeus go over to Privet Drive to pick up Harry's belongings."

Lily nodded.

"Well?" Minerva asked, "Did you take a look at his belongings?"

Lily flushed guiltily and shook her head.

"Neither did I," Minerva admitted, "But Rubeus told me about it. Lily, there _were_ no belongings. Lily, what does Harry own? Apart from his stationary, and the items he uses at school, what does he actually have to call his own?"

"He…" Lily murmured as she racked her brains, "He…"

"What does he wear, Lily?" Minerva asked.

"He asked me for money to go shopping once," Lily said in a faint voice, "He went to a nearby store to buy stuff – I just thought he was growing out of his old clothes…"

"From what I saw of the casuals he wore, Lily," Minerva said, "All of what he owned before coming here were hand-me-downs."

Lily's eyes widened at the implication.

"Again," Minerva said, "I'm not alleging abuse, so much as neglect, Lily. I don't think the Dursleys treated Harry as a nephew, so much as a burden that must be borne for the sake of an obligation towards a relative who was presumed dead."

"And," Lily asked, her voice quivering, "You did nothing? You knew all of this and you did nothing?"

Minerva rubbed at her forehead wearily. "The problem here is that Harry himself never said anything to any of us, Lily," she said with a sigh, "But the signs were there…"

"You did nothing?" Lily said, her voice rising in anger.

Minerva cut her off sharply. "While I freely admit to a certain sense of… complacency regarding your son's plight, Lily, I refuse to take all the blame for whatever happened to Harry. Child services – your muggle ones, anyway – paid regular visits to their home until Harry reached the age of four or so. They sent reports to us, which we kept track of. We didn't just _give_ him to Petunia, Lily. We lacked the resources to keep direct watch on him, but the reports claimed he was being treated well.

"And there were still people who wanted Harry dead. Or do you forget Lestrange and his wife and what they did to the Longbottoms? We didn't want to give away Harry's location through regular apparitions to his place. And… I suppose we took Petunia's maternal instincts for granted."

Lily opened her mouth to reply, her normally beautiful face contorting into a vengeful expression, but Minerva held out a hand to stop her.

"I'm not trying to absolve myself of blame, Lily!" Minerva said in a conciliatory tone, "I'm telling you how we arrived at this point. It was a combination of struggling to rebuild our world, of depending too much on muggle child protection services and of being _occupied_ and _trying to catch up_."

Lily reeled as if struck by Minerva's last words.

"I see," Lily said quietly, her face still flushed. "I… I suppose I was so busy trying to prove that I was alright and trying to forget how I was asleep for so long, that I… forgot about Harry."

"And that can be said of me too," Minerva said, "And of Albus and Rubeus and Remus… and perhaps Sirius, though I do not fault him for his horrible imprisonment. We all just… forgot about Harry."

Lily looked down at her palms. "I… I…", she stammered.

"Lily," Minerva said gently, "My intention was not to spur you into guilt. Don't get me wrong – Harry… the way he looks at you, the way he sees you… he's an orphan who got his mother back – it's the greatest gift a neglected child could ever have. I don't think he cares that you forgot about him, simply because you're there. But he doesn't _know_ what a normal childhood means, Lily. He only knows that he's got his mother back, and that's the most he ever wanted.

"But you and I know better – we know what it's like to have loving parents. We know what it's like to lead a normal childhood.

"When a normal teenager pleads for a new broom, or new clothes, or a new chess set and their parent says no, the normal teenager sulks and complains. When _Harry_ asks for something new and you ignore him, he will smile because he's used to the neglect and just be grateful that you're there. And that's not a good thing, Lily. That's not healthy."

* * *

Lily squirmed guiltily in her chair as she tried to read through her notes for the upcoming year, despite the fact that her eyes glazed over as soon as she read the first line.

Minerva was right.

And at the same time, Minerva was wrong. She did not understand. No one did.

Lily sighed, let go of her class notes – that promptly rustled onto the desk – and cradled her head in her hands, rubbing at her forehead. The problem, she surmised, was that no one – not even Dumbledore – actually grasped what had happened.

Lily had not sacrificed herself to save Harry – if that had been the case, she would not have been alive today. When Voldemort had attacked them, Lily had linked Severus Snape into the sacrificial spell, hoping against hope that _his_ soul would suffice instead of hers.

Involuntarily, Lily's fist curled and uncurled in rage at the thought of Severus' betrayal. Albus had been reluctant to tell her about it, but she had put two and two together. It had been _Severus_ that had overheard Trelawney's stupid prophecy, _Severus_ who had relayed the prophecy to Voldemort, _Severus_ who had thought she would willingly step aside and let Voldemort murder her son so she could be with the despicable man.

 _Yes_ , Lily thought, _he deserved the death he got_.

At the end of the day, her original plan had been to sacrifice her own soul to grant protection to Harry's – it was ancient magic, one she had taken great pains to learn about and cast. But Severus' appearance threw a monkey wrench into those plans. Lily, at the last moment, had chosen his soul for protection. Only, in her frenzy in those last moments, she had forgotten about the requirements of the spell – it needed true _love_ to work. And Severus never did possess that.

So the spell had sacrificed his soul and _her_ maternal instinct to sustain itself, nearly tearing her body apart in the process, and putting her in some sort of magical coma. Her body flitted between reality and… something else… but her soul stayed anchored, for some reason that even Dumbledore could not fathom.

And when Dumbledore had used the essence of the Philosopher's Stone to revive her, he had not summoned her old form – he had practically forged a new body for her. Reconstituted her in her old likeness around her soul.

It took only a bit of pondering and Arithmantic divining for Lily to find out exactly what had happened that night, though she had told no one the whole story. Essentially, the spell had consumed Severus to protect her and push the Killing Curse back onto the Dark Lord. And then the spell found its power waning, so it had consumed her maternal _love_ for Harry as well to cast its protection around him, taxing her body so much that it almost winked out of existence.

It wasn't so much that Lily was no longer capable of maternal love, as it was the fact that Lily no longer felt the same maternal affection towards Harry that she had once felt towards her little baby. She was going through the motions with Harry - she was simply behaving how she was supposed to behave. As a mother. And a responsible adult.

At the end of the day, Harry was just a teenager who happened to be living in the same house as her.

It was not a thought she was proud of.

* * *

The blonde woman watched the young man discreetly as he walked past her with a redheaded boy (obviously, a Weasley) she was told was his best friend.

 _There's something about Harry Potter_ , she thought as she watched the Boy-Who-Lived, _An under-current of something… powerful… and mysterious_.

The Boy-Who-Lived, however, glanced away from her, towards a sky-blue tent with an open flap. A very pretty girl with East Asian features emerged from the tent and Harry seemed to freeze, as if torn between greeting the girl and running away from her.

She frowned at the sight.

The Weasley boy walked a few more paces with the bucket of water and then paused as he noticed his friend wasn't keeping up. He turned around, puzzled, and then grinned as he saw Harry looking uncertainly at the pretty girl.

"Oi!" he said, and Harry started, "You coming, mate? Mom said she'd send over pie today by portkey, and I _really_ need to eat."

Her frown deepened.

* * *

 _"_ _Having a finger in every pie," Lucius told her coldly, "That's what the Malfoys are all about."_

 _She nodded tiredly. She was sick of these "This is what the Malfoys are" catch-phrases and associated idioms. Obviously, Lucius was trying to tell her something, and she wished he would get to the bloody point._

 _Of course, she would never say so to his face. Because "that's not what purebloods do in the Malfoy family."_

 _"_ _I've heard… rumors," Lucius said in a low voice, "Of things. Dark things. Disappearances. Murders. Take the last two years at Hogwarts – granted, one of those things was my doing, but the other…"_

 _She wanted to shrink away from him at his reference to releasing a basilisk on school filled with children, but she desisted and persevered, listening to the monster she once called a husband. Each time she thought this life became more bearable, each time she thought the Malfoy name wasn't a noose around her neck, a layer of filth peeled back and she discovered how deep she was embedded in a nest of the most repulsive vipers in England. He was loathsome, and she could barely stand his presence any more._

 _But she had to. For Draco's sake. For her son._

 _"_ _The other," Lucius continued, "Something to do with Nicholas Flamel and his precious Philosopher's Stone. The entire story – of possession, of a renegade Defense Professor, of the involvement of the Boy-Who-Lived – it belies something vast and powerful. Do you get my gist?"_

 _She thought for a moment and her mind reeled at what Lucius was really trying to imply._

 _"_ _You're… saying… He… is coming back?" she asked._

 _Lucius nodded sharply._

 _"_ _I believe so," he said. "And while I know we belong on his side…"_

 _She snorted at that, and quite loudly, but Lucius persisted, his voice colder._

 _"…_ _We need to make sure He does not take… issue… with us when… or rather, if… he returns. While my faith in his cause has remained steadfast, my actions of late may give him cause to suspect that I have been… less that loyal to Him, personally."_

 _"_ _We're talking about a hypothetical situation," she said wearily, "It's not like the Dark Lord is going to make an appearance tomorrow and demand punishment."_

 _Lucius hissed at her open mention of the Dark Lord._

 _"_ _I'd rather you not say it aloud like that in our house, you stupid old hag," he snarled through gritted teeth._

 _She pursed her lips at the insult. "Then why are you here, speaking to me about it?" she asked stiffly, "Why aren't you at some whorehouse with your boy-toys?"_

 _Lucius made a sudden movement with his hands, but seemed to resist at the last moment and she smirked. She took great pleasure in pushing him to the edge._

 _"_ _I'm talking to you about this," he said through gritted teeth, "Because if the Dark Lord comes back at all, anything that affects me… is going to affect you… and… our son."_

 _She took a deep breath. She should have known Lucius was going to blackmail her with her son's safety, again._

 _"_ _And what would you have me do about all this?" she asked._

 _"_ _I want us to have… leverage," he said, "In the event that he returns, I want us to have something to appease him. A tribute, of sorts."_

 _She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him._

 _"_ _I..." Lucius said, and took a deep breath before he continued, making it clear that asking her for something was the worst form of pain imaginable for him (and it probably was, she thought wryly), "I want you to befriend Harry Potter."_

 _She was stunned for a moment, then she laughed. Lucius' mouth tightened angrily._

 _"_ _And how do you propose I do that?" she asked._

 _"_ _I've arranged for Arthur Weasley to get passes to the month-long Quidditch World Cup programme," Lucius said quickly, "And if I know the man, he's going to give it to his youngest son, who's quite a bit of a Quidditch fan. Who just happens to be Harry Potter's best friend. Which means Harry Potter and the youngest Weasley boy are going to be tagging along with either the Irish team or one of the British teams for the better part of a month."_

 _"_ _And you want me to be there," she finished. Despite her utter loathing for the man, she had to respect his manipulative schemes._

 _"_ _Yes," Lucius said, "I want you to get to know him."_

 _She shook her head. "And why do you think he shall even be interested in speaking to me?"_

 _Lucius smiled coldly at her. "That… is entirely up to you. I don't care how you do it, as long as you do it. Use your womanly charm, or whatever is left of it."_

 _She brushed off the usual insult – she knew she looked as good as ever. Lucius was just trying to get under her skin._

 _"_ _But remember," he said, "We might be dealing in hypothetical scenarios… but if He does return, it's not just my life on the line – but Draco's as well."_

 _Her fist curled and uncurled at his continued reference to her son's life on the line. She nodded sharply._

 _"_ _The Quidditch World Cup is merely an opportunity to get to know him," Lucius said, "We're playing the long game here."_

 _"_ _Oh?" she asked._

 _"_ _But let's not worry about that right now," Lucius said, "For now, you need to prepare for the Quidditch World Cup."_

 _He stood up and walked away from her. She merely pursed her lips as she watched his retreating back, cursing her dead mother thricefold for letting Aunt Walburga marry her off to this loathsome creature, who thought her little more than a house ornament he could show off to the world for his advantage._

* * *

Amidst the field of tents, the blonde witch continued to watch the young wizard, waiting for an opportunity to approach.

Despite herself, the woman smiled. The boy was _very_ handsome – though that mattered little to her at this point. What was really attractive about him was that powerful thrum of magic she had felt earlier around him.

 _"_ _This is going to be more fun than I thought_ ," she whispered to herself with a smile.

"Erm… you go on ahead, Ron," Harry said hesitantly, "I… uh… I'll catch up."

Ron smirked at him and Harry flushed. "Suuuuuure," Ron said leadingly, "Good luck!" And Ron tittered as he walked down the hill to their tent.

Harry watched the very pretty Cho Chang emerge from her tent, like she had done every morning since they'd started their treks up and down the hill. Harry knew he had a _huge_ crush on the girl, and he had watched her with a fair bit of longing each time he saw her as he walked down the hill in the morning, but he had yet to muster the courage to talk to her.

 _Today's the day_ , Harry thought, _I'm going to speak to her_.

He took a deep breath.

 _Yes, today's the day_.

He took another deep breath.

 _Yes. I'm going. To speak. To her._

Another deep breath. His feet refused to move.

 _Speak to her_.

And another deep breath.

 _I'm never going to speak to her, am I_?

A tinkling laugh broke through his failed self-motivating thoughts. It was a very pleasant laugh, though, and it made his hair stand on end as he turned to its source.

And Harry knew it sounded cheesy, even in his head, but as he turned, he was greeted with what he thought was a vision of beauty.

A very stunning blonde woman stood in front of him, clad in a very shape-fitting set of robes, tailored to hug every curve on her body. Her features looked almost regal, with blue eyes – almost glinting with a predatory, seductive light between long, dark eyelashes and perfectly sculpted eyebrows – a shapely nose and beautiful pouty lips. Her long, flowing blonde hair was curled into ringlets, and it framed her face perfectly.

Of course, Harry didn't notice all of this right away – he was a bit too busy wondering exactly why she would ever bother speaking to him.

"You really should go talk to her," the woman said, nodding in Cho's direction, "If you keep gaping at her, she's probably going to think it's _really_ creepy, and then you'll have lost your chance altogether."

Harry blushed. "I… uh…" he stammered, lost for words.

"Although," the woman said, glancing curiously at him, "She could be a fangirl, now that I think about it. She might be flattered by the fact that _you_ are staring at her. Though she doesn't really seem the type."

Harry laughed uneasily. _Dammit_ , he thought, _say something suave, Harry._ Unfortunately, his brain seemed to have shut down and simply did not want to comply.

"Well?" the woman asked.

"I… uh… I'll speak to her… uh… tomorrow," Harry said, and kicked himself mentally.

The woman laughed again, sending pleasant tingles up Harry's spine, and he smiled automatically.

"Well, well, well, this is adorable – the Boy-Who-Lived is scared of talking to a pretty girl, is he?" she asked.

Harry just blushed again.

"Well," the woman said, "If you aren't going to talk to _her_ , then perhaps _we_ can talk awhile… if you don't mind, that is."

Despite the fact that his brain was saying _yes yes yes yesyesyesyes_ , Harry was still a bit wary.

"I… uh…" he stuttered.

"Oh," the woman said, "My apologies, Mr. Potter. I suppose an introduction is in order?"

"Harry, _please_ ," Harry said, and his brain congratulated him for stringing two words together without a stammer in between. _Shut up brain_ , Harry thought.

"Of course, Harry," the woman said with a pleasant smile (a _pretty_ smile, Harry's brain corrected). "In that case, I suppose you may call me… Narcissa."

That name jogged something in his memory – Harry knew he had heard the name before, but he couldn't remember where. There was… something… about the woman that seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Nonetheless, as long as his brain wasn't sounding off any alarms… Harry shook himself. _Goddammit_ , he thought, _stop overthinking this. Talk to the awfully pretty lady_.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, "Uh… I mean, Narcissa."

The woman laughed pleasantly again.

"Walk with me, Harry," she said.

And so, he accompanied her as they strolled through the field of tents, starting up a pleasant, if slightly one-sided, conversation.


	3. Over the Edge

"So," she breathed, her whisper a soft, soothing rush of sound that seemed to worm its way into his very bones, suffusing them with vigor, "Care to duel, Harry?"

Harry knew that Ron and Sirius were probably a bit worried about where he was – granted, Ron might tell Sirius that Harry had stopped by to talk to Cho Chang, but that was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. Most of his mind was pre-occupied with keeping up a conversation with the rather remarkable woman he was presently sitting beside.

At first, they had talked about mundane topics – why he had taken up Ancient Runes, for one. Harry told Narcissa that his choice of Ancient Runes had been based on his mother's recommendation, only to notice a frown of disapproval pass over Narcissa's face. But the frown cleared up as soon as it appeared; Narcissa herself was apparently more biased towards Arithmancy, though she had admitted that Runes was more suited to individuals who would rather _use_ magic than study why magic happened. That had piqued Harry's interest, and they had spent a while discussing the basics of Arithmancy.

And then they had delved into politics – basically, the politics of the wizarding world, which Harry knew little of. Harry could not help but feel that he had been steered into that topic – Narcissa was definitely setting the pace of the conversation, though he was no slouch at this sort of back and forth. He was a tad alarmed at how… conservative Narcissa seemed to lean, but she had admitted that her conservative leanings were probably because she was a pureblood. Harry had assured her that it did not matter – his best friend and godfather were purebloods after all.

And then the talk had turned, for some strange reason, to his magical prowess. A part of his mind – the paranoid part – was slightly alarmed at how the entire conversation seemed to be engineered towards probing him, verbally gauging him, as if Narcissa was measuring his worth. But after a while, Harry's paranoia fell away – he was having _way_ too much fun. It… probably also helped that Narcissa was _really_ hot.

By now, he could tell that Narcissa was sharp – Harry had first compared her intelligence to Hermione's, but he quickly dismissed that notion. Narcissa was not intelligent in the same bookish, naïve manner that Hermione was – Narcissa's intelligence seemed to be more… _cunning_ , perhaps, though her breadth of knowledge on magic and politics was nothing short of amazing. Then again, Narcissa was older than Hermione – not by much though, in Harry's estimation.

Eventually the topic had settled on Harry's favorite subject – Defence against the Dark Arts – which had then led to the question Narcissa had just asked him.

"Uh… duel?" Harry asked tentatively.

Narcissa stood up eagerly and bounced on her feet. Harry thought she looked strangely cute at that moment. "Yes," she said in a low voice, a strange light in her eyes that sent shivers down Harry's spine, "Follow me."

Harry warily got up and followed her across the tent, through a flap and into an adjacent chamber. He was once again reminded how wonderful wizarding tents were. Narcissa's tent obviously had two rooms – the smaller one served as her entrance area, with chairs and a small kitchen, while the larger one that they were presently in served as a massive bedchamber. Right in the middle of the chamber was a luxurious bed with a large make-up table to the side.

Harry blushed.

Narcissa laughed. "Is this your first time in a woman's bedroom, Harry?" she asked.

Harry tried to stammer out a reply, but Narcissa waved a hand at him, indicating that was just pulling his leg. She then jabbed her wand at her bed and it shuffled to the side, clearing up a large space in the middle. Narcissa then moved to the opposite end of the room and faced him.

"Well?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. At this point, he was enjoying Narcissa's company far too much to protest.

 _And how bad could this duel be, anyway?_

After all, Harry wasn't known as one of the best duelers of his year for nothing.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy huffed irritably as he was ushered into the Minister's Conference Room, adjacent to the Office of the Minister of Magic, only to be met with the sight of Albus Dumbledore – and no one else. He managed to suppress the urge to sneer in the old fool's direction and inwardly cursed his decision to arrive at the conference early.

Lucius took a seat as far away from the Headmaster of Hogwarts as possible – the old man seemed to be humming a tune to himself, in any case, and seemed not to have noticed Lucius' entrance. Lucius looked at his timepiece and noticed that the dials seemed to indicate it was half an hour away from his regular lunchtime.

He leaned back in his chair and reminded himself of why he was here – for _Draco_. He was here for Draco. If it wasn't for his son, who he loved with all his heart, he wouldn't have been at his meeting – not to mention the fact that he would have broken his stupid little obligatory marriage with Narcissa Black a long time ago. It had been his father who had insisted he marry a woman, when he wasn't even _attracted_ to that gender, with an eye on the Black legacy.

While the Malfoys were an obscenely rich family – more so than the Blacks – they had been a relatively new family to England at the time. As such, their influence had been far too restricted in England – no hereditary seats on the Council, no influence with the Ministry, no seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors and so on and so forth. Thus, Abraxas Malfoy thought that his only son should marry Narcissa Black in order to wed the two families together and secure their rightful place in England's hierarchy of power.

And like a dutiful son, he had done so. He had grit his teeth, married the woman, and even survived a quick night with her, managing to produce an heir.

Of course, Lucius had always fantasized about doing away with the damn woman once Draco had been born, but he had soon come to realize that Draco needed a mother after all. And thus, Lucius and Narcissa had settled into a barely tolerable marriage, where their son was the only bond that made them keep up the farce.

For Draco's sake, Lucius hoped his wife was having some luck bending the Potter boy to his will. He had found out, through his contacts that Potter and his best friend would be in Scotland for the duration of the Quidditch World Cup and had secured a place for his wife on the same moor.

Unbeknownst to her though, he had more sinister plans once his wife did secure Potter's friendship. Of course, if the Dark Lord arose, he could easily use his wife's influence to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord. But in case the Dark Lord did _not_ arise, there were so many possibilities – he imagined the scandal it would cause if he let it slip that his wife was having an affair with _the_ Harry Potter and the defamation that would accompany such a scandalous affair – and he didn't even need smoke to start a fire; the absence of an affair would hardly stop an onslaught of accusations backed by Malfoy gold. When the dust finally settled, Narcissa would be shamed, belittled and forced to slip away into obscurity, leaving him with full control of the Black wealth and the seats that she had inherited.

Of course, Sirius Black's recent release was a major obstacle to his plans, but a bribe here and a whisper there would be enough to give him control of the Blacks' political power – he didn't much care if the old Black money went to the Black man-child.

If he held any affection at all for his wife, he would feel sorry for her. Luckily for him, there was no love lost between them – he would _relish_ the opportunity to drag her name through the mud. And if his luck held, even Draco would start hating his mother and stop needing her to support him. And thus, the Malfoy legacy would be secure.

He was startled from his thoughts as the Minister's entourage bustled in through the double doors and settled around the table.

Lucius smiled inwardly as the conference started. There was nothing more satisfying than plotting against people he _loathed_.

* * *

Harry slumped on the ground and grimaced as Narcissa towered above him.

Three duels. He had fought three duels so far, and had lost all three of those duels miserably. The first duel could barely even be called a duel – it had only taken a single powerful spell from Narcissa, which had barrelled into his side and deprived him of his wand.

The second duel had been slightly better – 'slightly' being a relative term. He had managed to dodge the first flurry of spells Narcissa sent at him and managed to get off a charm – a hasty Body-Bind – before he was sent flying off his feet.

And the third duel had been just as short as the first duel. He had barely gotten off a spell before Narcissa conjured a bloody _lion_ out of nowhere that charged at him and pinned him to the ground.

He was beginning to realize something quite substantial – Narcissa was _way_ out of his league.

"I'm beginning to _like_ this," Narcissa said delightedly, "I've got the Boy-Who-Lived kneeling between my legs. Oh, the witches at Hogwarts would be jealous and mortified at the sight."

Harry half-coughed, half-laughed at the innuendo. For someone who could exude an elitist sort of sensuality with every movement, Narcissa sure could be crass.

"At least you're laughing," she said lightly.

"At least you haven't left a bruise, ma'am," he said, getting up and patting himself down.

"Three pumps and all out, are we, Harry?" Narcissa asked, sending Harry into a coughing fit again, backing away and readying her wand, "Don't have enough for at least one more go?"

Harry had to laugh at that. While the first defeat had been pretty humiliating, being defeated _thrice_ had a sobering effect on him. ' _After all_ ,' Harry thought, ' _now that I know I have no chance against her, I might as well go all out and learn something from this_.'

"Hell yes," he said.

And with barely a warning, a crackle of lightning burst forth from Narcissa's wand. Harry rolled to the side, panting (he made a mental note to really work on his stamina) and dodging it. Narcissa jabbed her wand towards him, compensating for his movements and the chain of lightning hit the patch of ground he had just vacated, leaving a scorch mark. It then bounced off the ground towards him.

" _Aguamenti_!" Harry roared.

Harry frantically pushed forth a jet of water from his wand that sizzled into steam as it met with the lightning, snuffing it out. He then turned towards Narcissa, but she had already launched a stunning spell towards him, forcing him to duck and roll again. The stunning spell missed, and Narcissa launched a ball of what appeared to be red lightning at where he stopped his roll.

But Harry had anticipated that – his halt had been a feint. He continued to roll out and the ball of lightning missed him, though it managed to singe his left arm. Harry seized the momentum and came out in a crouch – his wand pointed straight at Narcissa and he focused his magic on his wand. He'd be damned if he didn't go out with a fight.

A ball of what he called _Hermione's favourite_ \- bluebell flames - burst forth from his wand, catching Narcissa entirely off-guard. She quickly created a silvery, translucent shield which shuddered as the fiery blue ball smashed into it. The shield and the ball of flames seemed to pulse against each other for an entire second, and then the shield shattered, even as the flames vanished into thin air. And before Harry could react, Narcissa sent a flurry of ropes at him, which promptly tied him up. She then summoned his wand out of his hand.

Harry had lost yet another duel.

* * *

"This is _still_ ludicrous," Lucius said smoothly. He wanted to snarl at the fools arrayed against him, but no one as accomplished as he was in politics would resort to threats so early in the game. "This isn't a World Cup or a Dueling Championship. It's a _Triwizard Tournament_. It's _for_ the students – that is its purpose."

Bartemius Crouch – the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation – looking older and wearier than ever, tried to interrupt Lucius, but he was having none of that.

"My point is," Lucius continued, "It does not make any sense, whatsoever, to hold a magical tournament that is meant for students, and then disqualify ninety percent of those same students because of this flimsy idea of safety. If the tournament is for people who are of age already, then why call it a tournament for students of the three schools? Why not make it a full-fledged wizarding tournament where any adult can compete?"

"I agree," said Pius Thicknesse, Head of the International Magical Office of Law and an old friend of Lucius', "I suppose it's like holding a Hogwarts Quidditch Cup and then saying only the final year students of Hogwarts are allowed to play Quidditch. It is ridiculous – this idea of a tournament for students that disqualifies most of the students it's supposed to cater to."

"There has to be some sort of age barrier though," Ludo Bagman said quickly, "Since you're all citing the Quidditch Cup as an example… even that disqualifies first year students from participating."

"For good reason," Lucius said, "But it doesn't disqualify an overwhelming majority of students from participating, which is what everyone here seems to be proposing. For the record, I do not believe any of us are suggesting that there should not be some sort of age barrier – all we're saying is that this _seventeen-year-olds and above_ age line is ridiculous."

The Minister of Magic – Cornelius Fudge, as befuddled as ever – fiddled with the bowler hat in his hands and looked at Lucius.

"What do you suggest, Lucius?" Fudge asked.

"That we make this tournament accessible to Fourth Years and above. Surely _fourteen_ is a better age limit than seventeen. A large portion of wizards and witches over that age have passed puberty, and have come into their own, at least in terms of magical power. Fourteen has always been the traditional age limit for tournaments of this sort, Cornelius – this recent fixation on seventeen is bewildering and insultingly… _muggle_ , in its sentiments."

Lucius smirked as he noticed quite a few of the muggle-lovers around the table stiffen. "After all," Lucius continued softly, "Even the age of consent in our world is fourteen."

"And don't forget the Goblet itself," Thicknesse added quickly, "It's unlikely that the Goblet would choose an unworthy candidate to participate, in any case. The enchantments the Goblet has been imbued with makes it more than capable of choosing worthy candidates."

"We're not so daft as to believe Lucius is doing this for the goodness of Hogwarts, I hope," Crouch said mildly, "His son turns fourteen this year, does he not?"

Lucius snarled. "Now that you've brought it up, _yes_ , I do believe my son is more than capable of handling the tasks in this tournament. Some of us take an active interest in the welfare of our children, Bartemius, and would like to see those children achieve all they can. Unlike _some_ fathers I can name."

Lucius was rewarded with the sight of Crouch flushing in anger at the barb.

"Gentlemen, _please_ ," Fudge said, ever the spineless peacemaker, "Barty, Lucius represents not just the Board of Governors, but the parents of Hogwarts as well. It is well within his rights to take his son into consideration during this discussion."

Crouch's lips thinned and he gave a tight nod.

"While I can see where Mister Malfoy is coming from," Albus Dumbledore interjected, "I am still concerned about the safety of all of the students – seventeen and below. The tasks – at least the draft outlines that we all received – are worrisome, to say the least."

Lucius sighed as the discussion continued around him. He chanced a glance at his timepiece. It looked like he was going to miss his regular lunch-time.

* * *

Narcissa panted; she had wanted to impress Harry by showing him how powerful she was. And so, when Harry had shouted out his previous incantation, she had created a very complex shield that was taxing on her magical power, but incredibly powerful in its ability to block physical conjurations.

And the shield, by all rights, should have rendered her invulnerable to the common _cold fire_ spell. The bluebell flames _should_ have splashed upon her shield and extinguished themselves, leaving her gloriously untouched.

But the sheer power of his conjuration had completely overwhelmed her. And her choice of shields had proven to be unfortunate – the shield had tried to counteract the power of his conjuration by drawing upon her magic, and had failed, exhausting her entirely and shattering her shield on impact.

And Harry, while down and tied up, looked as healthy and ready-to-go as ever.

The fourteen-year-old was far more powerful than Narcissa had anticipated. She had suspected as much, considering the power of the simple spells he had been flinging around, but his last spell had sealed the deal. The boy was sitting on what appeared to be well of immense, primal power.

Even now, she could feel the _thrum_ of magic reverberating around him from his last effort.

Lucius had asked her to befriend the boy so that he could be used as leverage. But Harry was far too powerful to be used as mere leverage. He was too powerful to be kept chained by the likes of Dumbledore. And he was far too powerful and potent for her to resist… _encouraging_ him down the path to power and glory.

Narcissa smiled as she waved her, causing the bound boy to float in mid-air, his back to the wall of the tent.

She drew close to him with an extra sway to her hips; she wasn't disappointed by Harry's reaction – he watched her sashay towards him with a gulp, his eyes never leaving the curve of her hips.

"I think I _like_ you like this, Harry," she breathed into his ear, running a hand along his bare fore-arm where he appeared to be singed. Magic poured out of her hand – a simple healing spell – and the reddish marks along his arm began to disappear. "All trussed up like a Christmas gift, ready for unwrapping and… _ravishing_."

He shivered, his lean muscles rippling through his forearm. Narcissa felt tingles run up her own arm at how helpless her catch was. And she could still feel the thrum of magical power running through him – it grew weaker as Harry calmed down, but it was still there, like a soft breeze that caressed her skin. She peered into his eyes, green and shimmering with hidden power.

She pressed up against him, her face barely a millimeter away from his own. He blushed adorably, shivered again and whimpered through the ropes that were muffling him.

Narcissa laughed, drew away from him and waved her wand lazily. The ropes fell away and Harry landed gracefully on the ground in a crouch, still blushing, breathing hard and, much to her amusement, trying to cover up a very obvious _tent_.

 _Oh,_ Narcissa thought, _I'm going to do so much more than ravish you, Harry. I'm going to bend you. We're going on a ride, you and I, and I'm going to turn you into my very own fallen archangel._

For the first time in several years, Narcissa saw a way out of the rut her life had fallen into. For the first time, there truly _was_ a silver lining between the storm clouds.

* * *

"We're going nowhere with this," Crouch said stiffly, rubbing the edges of his neatly trimmed moustache, "If we open up the Triwizard Tournament to the lower years, we'd have to go back to the drawing board and devise new tasks."

"Which I approve of," Dumbledore said before Lucius could respond.

As one, the conference table stared at the Headmaster.

"Ah, I merely meant that I approve of going back to the… drawing board," Dumbledore said with a smile, "I made it clear, even during the last meeting, that I do not approve of the tasks as they are."

Lucius sighed. For a moment, he had almost believed the old fart was actually on his side.

"I hadn't heard of that," Bagman said. Crouch palmed his face.

"That's because you weren't here for the previous meeting, Ludo," Crouch said sternly.

Fudge stalled Bagman before he could respond and said, "Albus had… er… concerns with the possible exploitation of sentient creatures for the tournament."

"Sentient _beings_ , Cornelius," Dumbledore said, "I do _not_ approve of using nesting dragons and live eggs for the First Task. Nor do I think the Merpeople will think any better of us if we force them to cede territory to us for what they see as a human game. And the third task is mind-boggling in its attempt to alienate the various magical creatures that live alongside us – live acromantula? Blast-ended skrewts? Trolls?

"These creatures could be injured during the course of this tournament! And they could inflict injury upon our students! I cannot stress how much I disagree with this strange notion that sentient beings may be treated as playthings simply because they are not human."

Crouch just shrugged wearily. Lucius could sympathize with Crouch – he had heard these moronic arguments a dozen times already from Dumbledore during the past few meetings.

"And while I take no pleasure in repeating this time and again, I would like to remind this board," Dumbledore continued, undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm for his viewpoint around the table, "We are _wizards_ and _witches_. We can craft challenging tasks without availing ourselves for the abilities of abused and oft-belittled beings."

Lucius sat up at that. Perhaps there was a way he could work with the opening Dumbledore had granted him.

"Well, _there's_ an idea," he said, entirely serious.

The meeting members looked nonplussed at the idea of Lucius and Dumbledore on the same side of the argument for once. Lucius continued, "Let's go back to the drawing board. Kill two doxies with a single spell. Devise tasks that do not depend on the unpredictability of sentient… ah… _beings_."

Lucius spat out the last word, indicating his disdain for the idea of mere creatures being exalted as _beings_ by Dumbledore. But he didn't want to spend too much time dwelling on the trees lest he lose sight of the forest.

"Re-draw the tasks. Devise them to be more… controlled, but maintain the challenge and the thrill of the competition. Wards, spells and enchantments – they can all used to control the inherent unpredictability that comes with the use of mere beasts," Lucius said, "And then, open up the Tournament to the lower years."

Fudge fiddled with the rim of his hat nervously as he nodded to his Undersecretary.

The shrill voice of Dolores Umbridge echoed through the conference room, "Very well, ladies, gentlemen. We shall create a draft proposal based on the ideas we have expounded upon so far, and shall then call a vote."

* * *

Harry walked out of the tent, entirely dazed and exhausted. After that last duel, Narcissa had practically run him ragged, asking him to perform spells for her, as if gauging his abilities. And then, apparently satisfied with what she had learnt, she had begun to teach him the basics of non-verbal incantations and a few new amazing spells, some of which seemed to harness his very emotions. He had mastered the lightning spell Narcissa had used quickly enough, but the other spells still took him a bit of effort.

Truth be told, Harry was amazed at how skilled Narcissa was with a wand – and then he blushed as he realized he would probably fantasise about how good she'd be with the _other_ sort of wand in the near future, to say the least. Either way, he wanted… _desired_ … to see her more often and was completely overwhelmed when she had invited him over the next day, after the Ireland-Brazil Quidditch match. Harry could not wait to see her again, and… learn from her. He could barely believe a woman like _that_ was talking to _him_ , of all people.

But he was roused from his daydreaming when he notice that the sun was way too high up in the sky for it to be early morning any more.

' _Holy crap_ ,' Harry thought incredulously as he realized he had been talking to Narcissa for the better part of an entire _day_. He hurried back to camp, hoping Ron and Sirius weren't too worried about his long absence.

' _And even if they do scold me_ ,' Harry thought with a wild smile on his face as he remembered how Narcissa had pressed up against him – the stuff of possible every single future fantasy he would have from that moment onwards, ' _it'd be totally worth it_.'

* * *

Lucius whistled a jaunty tune as he left the conference room. Granted, Ludo did not look too happy at the idea of re-working the Triwizard Tournament and its tasks, but Lucius could not care less. At the very least, he had managed to open up the Triwizard Tournament to at least half the students of magical Europe, with its new age requirement of fourteen and above.

And at best, he had paved the way for Draco to come into his own and find glory during the Triwizard Tournament. Granted, there was still the fact that the Goblet of Fire would choose which student would participate, but the Malfoy bloodline was powerful, and Lucius would eat his cane if there was a student at Hogwarts more powerful than his own son.

Lucius may have missed his regular lunch-time, but he thought this small victory was more than worth it.


	4. Fire and Smoke

_A/N: A lot of you asked about Dragon Lily, so I just thought I'd make it a bit clear up here. I'm really sorry about taking it down. Short version is... I panicked. Basically, someone I knew IRL found out about the story, and so I panicked and took it down. I'm afraid I've no intention of continuing that story. At best, it was icky. At worst, it was a disaster waiting to happen. Plus, as the story went on, I found out that I was far more intrigued by the relationships between the people involved, and that writing the smut wasn't fun any more. I couldn't wait to get over those parts so that I could delve into the story. Though, maybe the smut made the story worthwhile. Which would mean I'm a horrible writer, since it'd mean I have to resort to crudeness to hold someone's attention._

 _I should probably also make it clear that this won't be smutty at all - there might be a little sexiness and maybe a little lewdness, but no explicit smut. Hopefully, it won't suck without the smut - and it won't be totally aimless either. I hope. Let me know if I suck at writing this stuff._

 _As for my actual adult works, I hope to upload them someplace else. I'll keep you guys updated in that case._

* * *

Harry stared up at the bare ceiling of his own room, darkened wood gleaming in the pale light of morning.

' _So different_ ,' he thought, ' _So different from the ceiling of her tent, with its dryads and spirits and twinkling lights._ '

He had changed a lot. Nearly a month had passed since his first encounter with Narcissa, and here he was, staring up at his own ceiling, lost in happy memories. She had taught him much – he was proficient at non-verbal spells, and was fairly certain he wouldn't have much problem with non-verbal incantations in the future, though he knew he'd have to practice hard to get some of the more arcane and powerful spells she'd taught him.

And he had learned how to harness emotion and truly wield some powerful magic. Harry knew he should have made the connection between powerful magic and emotion earlier, considering the fact that the most powerful spell he had cast in his life before his training with Narcissa – the Patronus Charm – had been powered by happiness. Apparently, happiness was not the only emotion that could be channelled into magic. Rage – which Harry possessed in spades, _had_ possessed since his childhood at Privet Drive – could be channelled into magic too. And there seemed to be an abundance of spells which used rage as an emotional focus. Mostly destructive in nature, but mighty nonetheless.

Harry had also learned the basics, at the very least, of mixing transfiguration into duels, though he knew it would be a while before he could even begin to keep pace with Narcissa's mastery of the form. But he was beginning to _get_ transfiguration now - the comprehensive visualization involved, the feel of magic curling up within him and then unleashing it to give form to what was in his mind.

But, if he was being really honest with himself, the highlights of his daily meetings with her, which lasted anywhere from one hour to several hours driving Sirius and Ron batty, weren't the duelling lessons she had so graciously taught him.

No, the highlight of his sessions was learning a branch of magic he had never been acquainted with before – magic of the _mind_. It seemed so far-fetched, even now when he was passably acquainted with the mental arts, but Narcissa had taught him the basics of Occlumency, and her teaching methods were… persuasive, to say the least.

* * *

 _"_ _Emotions are powerful, Harry," she said, scooting closer to him on the carpeted floor of the tent, "Passion is a powerful focus for the more… arcane and powerful forms of magic. And it comes naturally to you – so powerful, so young, so… passionate. And I love it when my men are passionate."_

 _Harry blushed, and then berated himself for falling prey to her innuendo again. It had been two whole weeks already, but he still wasn't quite used to her frequent euphemisms and overt flirtations._

 _"_ _Nonetheless, emotions are like wildfire," she said, "Letting go of them can be a powerful means of overwhelming your opponents, but like wildfire, if it isn't controlled, your own magic shall turn on you. And the forest shall be consumed."_

 _"_ _I don't follow," Harry said, puzzled._

 _"_ _Magic that is powered by emotion can be unwieldy – it's primal, it's the sort of thing that results in uncontrolled, accidental magic. Of course, it's admirable that you've managed to use it of your own volition in so short a time, but did you notice what happened there at the end?"_

 _Harry nodded and then glanced at where his ball of lightning – that he had powered with induced rage, hearkening back to a memory whence he had been chased up a tree by Aunt Marge's pitbull – had burst out of control, scorching Narcissa's make-up table. She had repaired it quickly enough, but it still made him feel a bit guilty._

 _"_ _The problem is," she continued, "Magic such as this, magic that is powered more by emotion than cold, practiced movements, can spiral out of control, consuming you and exhausting you. Passion can be fiery, but more often than not, it causes men and women to expend themselves… prematurely."_

 _Harry ignored the innuendo and nodded. He had felt the drain on his magic as his spell had spiraled out of control._

 _"_ _So, perhaps it's time to teach you all about occluding the mind… it's time to teach you control," she said._

Harry closed his eyes and breathed, drawing upon the technique she had shown him. Where thoughts were welcomed, but the emotion attached to each thought was slowly drained away – an easier technique than completely emptying the mind of all thought. Thus, Harry was told he could focus on the _flow_ of thoughts, spot an intrusion by a Legilimens, and then concentrate on deflecting it. And learn to dissociate memories from emotions, calling upon one or the other as needed.

However, Narcissa's later techniques to get him to grasp the principles of Occlumency as quickly as humanly possible had been… less orthodox.

 _"_ _Do you know why the Levitation spell is the first spell that is taught to First Years, Harry?" Narcissa asked._

 _"_ _You've told me before," Harry replied, "It's a spell that doesn't really need much magic to power it, and it doesn't quite need as much visualization or emotion."_

 _"_ _Ah, glad you remembered," Narcissa said, sounding pleased, "But it does require a lot of concentration. The slightest slip in concentration, and the item you're levitating shall be borne off course."_

 _"_ _Is that why I'm doing this?" Harry asked, focusing on the ball that he was levitating in the air at that moment. "I'm not sure this is teaching me much, to be honest," he grumbled._

 _Narcissa laughed, and then leaned in, sidling up to him. And Harry's breath caught in his throat as he felt a soft swell of flesh press into his side. Soft, heaving orbs attached to Narcissa's…_

 _The levitating ball dipped before Harry got it back under control._

 _"_ _Oh, really?" she breathed, her voice transitioning smoothly from professorial authority to sultry siren._

 _"_ _I… I…" Harry stammered, as he strove to maintain focus on the ball. His peripheral senses suddenly became hyper-sensitive – he was aware of how her long, curly, golden locks hung in front of her face framing her beautiful blue eyes, of how her dainty fingers were squeezing his arm ever so softly, of stiff… peaks that, even now, brushed against his shoulder._

 _Narcissa's hands crept up his forearm, nails dragging ever so lightly over his bare skin. And to make things worse, it was his wand hand that she was feeling up._

 _"_ _Focus," she breathed. Harry felt magic wash over him and his t-shirt vanished._

 _He squeaked and the ball trembled in place. Miraculously, Harry still managed to maintain focus. 'Dammit, Harry,' he thought to himself, 'Focus on the bloody ball. This is a dream. This is a dream. This can't be real. This can't be happening.'_

 _"_ _Good boy," Narcissa said, her perfectly proportioned nose now practically against his right cheek, her breasts now pressed firmly into his side. A lilac perfume wafted through his nostrils – a scent he had long since identified as Narcissa's. While the blonde woman did get up close and personal often during their lessons, she had never been this close before._

 _And then she was behind him – he could feel her clothed breasts on his back, even as she hugged him from behind, her hands now skirting over his smooth flesh._

 _"_ _Mmmmm," she purred, running her palms over his chest, each touch teasing out goosebumps over his skin, "So lean and hard. Been exercising, have we?"_

 _"_ _Every morning," Harry managed to squeak out, as his wand trembled in his hand. He was barely keeping the ball aloft now._

 _Her hand trailed down, ever so slowly, tracing his flat, hard stomach and then teasing his bellybutton with her forefinger. He whimpered. Narcissa giggled, and to his simultaneous horror and amazement, her fingers travelled to the button of his jeans._

 _Harry could barely believe it – this was the stuff of some sort of weird Playwizard fantasy. This had to be a dream. A dream he hoped he'd never ever wake up from._

 _And with an unzipping sound, his jeans came loose. Harry yelped, his shoulders jerked, and before he knew it, Narcissa's laughter reverberated through his ears as the ball that he had held aloft with his magic bounced on the floor and his spell winked out._

 _"_ _Got you," Narcissa said in an amused voice, sounding surprisingly young, even as Harry's shoulders slumped and a disappointed, frustrated sigh ripped from him, his mind still trying to process the series of events that had just transpired._

 _"_ _I'm going to remember that stupefied look on your face forever," she said, delighted, "But alas! Harry, you failed. It looks like we shall need a lot more practice before you learn how to truly focus and learn… control."_

 _Harry stared up at her. She raised an eyebrow at him._

 _"_ _Yes ma'am," Harry panted, "More practice. Definitely more practice."_

 _And Narcissa laughed._

* * *

Unfortunately for him though, their Quidditch Cup tour had come to an end – they were all asked to vacate the moor to make way for preparations for the final match: Bulgaria versus Ireland. And so, Harry, Ron and Sirius had returned to their respective homes for two days, after which, they would return for the final match. Of course, the entire Weasley family and his mother would accompany them for the final – the camping part of the summer was definitely over, much to his chagrin. But she _had_ promised to meet him for the final match.

Harry had realized by now that he had a _huge_ crush on the woman – although, part of him even knew that this was probably not quite an attempt at an affair from her side. She was playful, but always reverted to her proud demeanour once she truly got into the teaching aspect of his interactions with her. Nonetheless, there was a small, tiny part of him that still hoped for more.

He could feel her hands even now, soft as silk, brushing over his bare skin, stimulating him, groping, fondling, squeezing… granted, they had never gone beyond a few playful touches from her and hot, fierce whispers in his ears – all in the name of _training_ , of course, though Harry had long since come to suspect there were safer and less hands-on methods of teaching someone how to focus.

Nonetheless, he wasn't complaining. Apart from the… benefits, as frustrating as they could be… of Narcissa's technique, he had noticed how his ability to focus, and separate himself from his emotions, had been augmented, to say the least.

The flip side, of course, was that he was absolutely _intoxicated_. By _Narcissa_.

He sighed, a hand snaking south. _What was she doing to him?_

* * *

"Ladies, please," Sirius scoffed as he sat at the table in Lily's kitchen after he had dropped Harry off at Godric's Hollow, "I was the perfect babysitter."

Lily merely shook her head as she prepared a kettle of tea. Molly, whose head was floating in the green fire of Lily's chimney, rolled her eyes at Sirius' self-embellishment.

"Please, Sirius," Molly said, exasperated, "Ron may not be so forthcoming with me, but you forget that he's more than willing to trade gossip with his siblings. Who, in turn, are more than willing to rat him out to me. We know of your… philandering."

Sirius spluttered and Lily laughed.

"Molly," he gasped in a scandalized voice, "Well I _never_! Oh, my word, how dare you level such… libellous accusations against my saintly self!"

"It's hardly libellous if it's true, Sirius," Lily chimed in, "And _saintly_? _Sanctimonious_ is more like it, you buffoon."

Sirius puffed up his chest as if he was about to protest, but then seemed to think better of it, and deflated. "Okay, so maybe I lived a little. The boys are hardly nine, Molly. They're _fourteen_."

Molly shook her head. "Well," she said finally in a tired voice, "I don't think their being nine would've stopped you from your debauchery, Sirius."

Sirius opened his mouth to protest but Molly shooed him off. "However," she said, "I am grateful. Thank you for accompanying Ron to this camp – it meant the world to him to see his favourite game in person."

"Well," Sirius said, waggling his eyebrows, "If you're _really_ grateful, Molly, I can always use another of your delicious fudge brownies. In giant size."

"Sirius!" Lily cried indignantly, but Molly merely smiled and signed out after a hearty goodbye. The flame turned orange-red again.

The shaggy-haired man turned to Lily. "I'd ask you for a fudge brownie too," he said, "But I've tasted your cooking before. So… uh… I'll desist."

Lily brandished her wand at him.

"Okay, okay!" Sirius said, raising his palms up in surrender, "I give up! Just kidding… well… not really, but y'know…"

"I'm pretty sure I know a charm that causes dysfunction of a sort I'm _sure_ you can appreciate, Sirius," Lily said and jabbed her wand at the kettle of tea, causing it to heat up.

Sirius quickly changed subjects. "Oooh!" he said, and leaned in conspiratorially, "I didn't tell you about Harry now, did I?"

Lily arched an eyebrow at Sirius. He was usually as insufferable as Petunia was back during Lily's childhood when he started trading gossip, but now that he had mentioned Harry, she was curious too.

"Harry's got a girlfriend!" Sirius finished in a loud whisper.

Lily, who'd been half-focusing on the kettle of tea she had set to boil, snapped around to face Sirius. He looked disconcerted by her sudden movement.

"What?" she asked, feeling strangely irked, "He… _what_?"

"He's got a girlfriend," Sirius said wistfully, "Just… don't tell him I told you! He was being as subtle about it as a hippogriff in heat though."

"A hippogriff in… _Sirius_!" she said, exasperated, "You're joking, aren't you?"

Sirius looked genuinely bewildered. "For once, Lily," he said, "I'm actually being _serious_. Like my namesake."

Lily palmed her face. "Sirius, you ran that joke into the ground years ago," she said.

"Well…" Sirius started, but Lily interjected quickly.

"How do you know he's got a girlfriend?" she asked, sounding waspish, even to herself.

"Well," Sirius said, "For one, Ron told me he's got one – saw Harry go up to talk to this pretty Hogwarts bird one day in the morning. And he came back four hours later with this big goofy smile on his face."

"His girlfriend is… she's a student?" Lily asked faintly.

"Yup," Sirius said proudly, "And she's a year above him, from what Ron's told me. A 'really hot Ravenclaw' is what he said. I'm so proud of him – he's chasing after the older ladies already!"

Sirius' smile turned wistful as he reminisced, "It's like me and Ellie… you remember Ellie, right? Oh the things that woman could do with her…"

"Sirius, shut up," Lily said stiffly, "I… did he meet her often?"

"Every single day!" Sirius exclaimed, "I'm telling you, Lily – it's puppy love! Hell, he's started doing all these weird exercises in the morning too!"

"He's… _what_?" Lily asked, bewildered.

"You know… jogging and huffing and puffing and push-ups and all sorts of weird exercises," Sirius said, and shuddered, "If that isn't a sign of a full-blown crush, I don't know what is."

Lily stared at the kettle for a moment, her eyes betraying her confusion. Sirius frowned at her expression.

"You're being _really_ weird," he said, "It's not like he was learning dark magic on the side or something, Lily. He was just meeting some girl and having fun."

Lily shifted from foot to foot, and the kettle whistled. She paid it no mind.

"What is with you?" Sirius asked, "Is it that time of the…"

"Shut up," Lily said, cutting him off, "I'm… alright. Just… tired, I guess, with all the studying and preparing for Hogwarts."

Sirius shook his head in amusement. "Same old Lily," he said, "Studying and working so hard and then snapping at the rest of us poor souls for no reason at all."

Lily smiled weakly at him. "If you're talking about Hogwarts," she said wearily, "I'm pretty sure I had plenty good reason to snap at you."

Sirius shrugged.

"What's her name?" Lily asked finally, "This… girl. What's her name?"

"Oh… Chang… something or another. You'd be better served asking Ron," Sirius said. He then looked at the clock in the corner of the kitchen and his eyes widened.

"Dammit!" he said, scrambling for the floo powder above the chimney, "Okay, Lily I have to go. The Chinese take-out near my place closes early on Sundays."

"Maybe you should try cooking for yourself," Lily snapped at Sirius.

"Yeah, well, maybe _you_ should try it too," Sirius snapped back, nodding towards the half-eaten wrapped spaghetti on the table that Lily had ordered out from a nearby Italian eatery.

Sirius seized some floo powder and sprinkled it over the fire, turning the fire emerald green. "The Veela Palace of Pleasure!" he roared, stepping into the floo.

Nothing happened. Lily stared at him.

Sirius shrugged. "One of these days," he said firmly, "That's totally going to work."

Lily merely shook her head, completely nonplussed.

"Sirius," she said in a fit of impulse, as the man she had addressed stepped out to grab some more floo powder from her hearth. He paused and looked at her with a grin.

"Still here," he said as she merely looked at him for a long moment.

"I… Am I a bad mother?" she asked, her words tumbling out of her in a rush.

Sirius raised his eyebrows at her.

"Depends on who you're comparing against," he said brightly, "Mrs Black, or Mrs Potter?"

"I'm serious," Lily snapped, and then groaned as she saw Sirius' eyes light up.

"Fine," Sirius said with a pout, "Okay then, I'll be serious." Lily barely held in another groan.

"Lily," he asked her, his eyebrows furrowing, "What brought that question on?"

"I…" Lily said, "Why didn't he tell me, Sirius? Why didn't he tell me about this girl?"

Sirius looked nonplussed. "He's barely even come back to you, Lily," he said, "And I'm not entirely sure that his telling you of his little girlfriend would be indicative of your being a _good_ mother."

Lily stared at Sirius, who defensively folded his arms against his chest. "Told you I can be _serious_ ," he said smugly.

He promptly ducked into the fireplace as a grinning Lily launched a flock of birds right at him and said, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place." He promptly vanished through the floo in a haze of emerald smoke and her conjured flock vanished.

Lily's grin slid off her face immediately. She sniffed and glared at her kettle as it let out yet another whistle.

* * *

Lily closed her eyes and for the umpteenth time, strove to bring up old memories. Of simpler times, of sunny meadows, of her hands intertwined with James, of laughing and rolling in the grass with her sister, of her mother's kisses, of her father's gentle smile, of the Potters' welcoming hugs… and holding her little Harry's hand in her own, cooing at him and watching James smile proudly as he beheld his son in her arms.

 _Nothing_.

Just a flurry of images in her head. A wash of empty colours, a collage of frames that invoked… _nothing_.

She felt nothing. _Hollow_.

As if she were viewing someone else's memories. As if another woman was showing her a boring family album, and she were pretending to smile fondly as the pictures moved and waved at her.

She could still hold a conversation with Sirius, still smile at his jokes, talk to Remus about magical theories and academics, but the older inside jokes and reminiscing about memories held no pleasure for her. Her old life held no emotion, no feeling for her.

She was born anew, empty, an adult with no childhood to speak of, a woman with no past, a witch with no history.

Lily opened her eyes and stared down at her open hands in frustration and bewilderment.

 _What had she done to herself?_


	5. Confrontation

_A/N: I want to start this chapter with an apology. I'm sorry, but smut won't be making an appearance in this story - I hope that doesn't dull your interest in this fic; but then again, maybe it was the smut that made any of this worthwhile. For my smutty works, feel free to browse 'WerewolfWarriro' (I spelt the username wrong and now I'm stuck with that account) on archiveofourown._

* * *

Walls of stone. Dark, dank spaces. The distant roar of sea against shore. A tiny little slit that opens to reveal a canvas of stars.

 _One._

The woman shoved herself off the ground, her arms rising completely off the ground with the force of her push. She then clapped her arms in mid-air and then fell back to the damp floor, her hands swinging back into position as she dipped into another push-up.

 _Two_.

Another push, _clap_ and then back to the grind.

 _Three_.

And her hands collapsed. The woman slammed into the ground, face first, her chin bouncing painfully off the wet, black stone with a sharp _crack_.

The woman shrugged it off. This was not pain – au contraire, this was a reminder that she still drew breath.

She lay face down on the ground, disappointed at her exercise count. There had been a time when her lithe, athletic body could handle this task with ease, but the prison had leeched her strength away. Her striking, predatory, _beautiful_ physical appearance had long since been ripped away from her, leaving behind a skeletal husk that was as far removed from her past beauty as her prison was from civilisation.

But then again, she still drew breath.

And she was still loyal.

They still had reason to be afraid. _Very_ afraid.

She pushed herself off the ground and felt a stifling darkness sweep over her. She stiffened, wondering, for a moment, why her guard was here, ahead of the regular time.

Her mind shattered into a million pieces as she rushed to the bars of her cell and stuck her face between them. Her nose stuck out beyond the charmed prison bars and she cackled wildly, her eyes bright with an unnatural gleam.

"Come get me, you bony _fucks_!" she screeched, her voice shrill, "Listening in on my thoughts, are you?"

The darkness sprouted tendrils as it crawled across the floors and the grimy walls, snaking towards her cell. She giggled. "Cute little darkness… smoke… monster thing!" she cooed, "C'mere!" Her hand snapped out through the bars as she clutched at thin air, beckoning the menacing shadows to her.

"Oh, here's a funny one," she said eagerly, wondering if the wispy black tendrils liked jokes, "Once, this rat tried to scurry around on the floor of my room. I caught it and tore the skin off its belly with my nails. And then I put it back on the floor. It tried to scurry away nonchalantly, like nothing had happened, but then I saw its organs drop. One after the other. _Plop. Plop. Plop._ Through the slit I made! _Rat droppings_!"

She laughed uproariously. And then her cackle died on her lips as she realized that her joke didn't quite have a punchline. Her brows furrowed and her eyes blazed as she screeched angrily. How _dare_ she!

"Father would be _mad_!" she cackled, "Father would be _mad_ at the clumsy joke! Clumsy jokes make for awkward laughter! Awkward laughter implies bad impressions! Only _mudbloods_ make bad impressions! Bad, BAD _BAD_! BAD GIRL!"

She rattled the bars of her home, which in turn rattled her head. And her face bounced between the cast iron rods – like a gnome with its head decapitated _just_ the right way.

She had seen that once, a long time ago. This time though, she held her tongue - she did not dare crack a joke about _that_ … at least, not till she discovered a proper set-up and punchline.

The darkness grew closer and loomed just around the corner of her cell and at the entrance to the adjacent chamber.

"Sirius isn't here anymore, you bony _fucks_!" she screamed, rattling the bars of her cage once more, "He's _gone_! GONE GONE _GONE_! Just like before! Aunt Wahlberga will be _mad_! MAD MAD _MAD_!"

The darkness moved again, practically upon her. It paused, as if drawing breath.

The imprisoned woman frowned. The chill, the sense of horror, the bone-rattling sound of a Dementor's Breath… none of those sensations accompanied the darkness. This was a very different, odd, _warm_ sort of darkness.

Was she imagining things again?

" _Lady Death, Lady Death,_ " she sang, a little ditty from her childhood popping to the forefront of her broken mind, " _Catch me while I still draw breath_!"

Wisps of inky smoke snuck into her cell, coalesced into a dark blob and then imploded, only to reveal a human figure that stepped out of the shadows of her cell. A handsome young man with rather sharp features and scraggly brown hair.

She _was_ imagining things again.

"You're GONE!" she cackled, pointing, "Dead! _Lady Death, Lady Death,_ she caught you!"

But the spectre had a voice that invoked memories of a past she had almost forgotten, filling her mind with insane glee.

"No," the man said calmly, "I never truly died."

Before she could react, he reached out and pinched her arm. The woman flinched, and then stared at the spectre that had betrayed more materiality than she would have given it credit for.

The woman shrugged. It wasn't the first time she had felt a hallucination touch her.

The man jerked his head to her left forearm. She looked at him a while longer, puzzled, and then shrugged as she realized that she was bored – this imaginary man she had conjured was less talkative than the _others_. But she figured she had nothing to lose by obeying the whims and fancies of her imaginary friend.

So she pulled up the left sleeve of her tattered robe and glanced at the usual spot on her left forearm.

And kept staring at it.

Like blood spurting through pierced flesh, a wild cheer effervesced from her very gut, worked its way up her throat and streamed through her mouth as a peal of wild laughter.

He was _back_. The snake and the skull on her forearm were as clear on her arm as the stars etched in the night sky.

"Where is he?" she asked, looking around her cell desperately.

"He isn't here. He has not recovered… not yet, anyway," the man standing opposite her rasped, "A god needs his rest, Bella.

"But even a resting god is powerful. After all, I _am_ standing in what is supposed to be an airtight prison, thanks to _His_ grace."

"How…" she began to ask, but then gasped as the man held out his palm, showing her a golden ring with an ominous stone nestled within. The stone wasn't a stone so much as a solid… _something_ … crafted from the opposite of light – it seemed to _radiate_ darkness.

"His ring," she gasped, "He gave it to you."

"To save _you_ ," the man rejoined, "To reward you for your loyalty. Your faith."

The woman laughed again and knelt upon the ground, tears of wild happiness dripping down from her eyes onto the cold stone of her cell.

She still drew breath.

And she was still loyal.

Under her happily bewildered gaze, the man then pulled out a pouch from his left pocket and promptly threw it onto the floor at his feet. He then pointed his wand at the pouch and it rolled in on itself, vanishing into ether and revealing an unconscious, skinny brunette.

"She looks a bit like me," the woman observed curiously, "Is she a replacement?"

"Yes," the man said, "Some squib I picked up in Bulgaria. Resembled you closely enough – and the dementors don't care about what the person looks like as long as she has happy memories to feast on. A soul was in this cell, and a soul shall remain in this cell – they won't even know we've swapped you out. That… was how I escaped my incarceration here."

"I bet your replacement wasn't as beautiful," the woman smirked, winking her eyes flirtatiously at the man.

"Shut up," the man snarled, his eyes growing cold, "My… replacement was my _mother_."

The woman grew silent, and stared at him, utterly confused. The man sighed wearily.

"Never mind," he said, extending his right hand out to her, even as he raised the ring to his mouth with his left and whispered a few words she could not quite catch. Dark tendrils reached out from within and engulfed them, hemming them in protectively. She could still see her companion though, and he could see her – the darkness cradled them and them alone, the most faithful of their order.

"The dementors cannot see us. The guards cannot see us. No one can, so long as Slytherin's ring is still in my hand," the man said as he squeezed her bony hand in his own.

The woman smiled, nodded happily at the man and squared her shoulders as they stepped out into the darkness, away from her cell, away from her home and towards her salvation.

She still drew breath. And she would soon be free.

"Come, Bella," the man said gently, "Let us go back to where we belong."

' _First order of business_ ,' Bellatrix Lestrage thought happy, ' _Work on that bloody push-up count_.'

The world was ripe for _plucking_.

* * *

"Hermione!" Harry said happily as he met his friend after a long summer, "You alright?"

Hermione hugged him affectionately and then drew away, as if evaluating him, looking over him critically. Harry blushed.

"Been working out, have we?" she asked neutrally.

"Ha!" Ron said as he pointed at Harry and laughed.

Hermione let go of his arms and turned to Ron. "Something I should know?" she asked curiously.

"Oh he _has_ been working out!" Ron said, ignoring the frantic gestures that Harry was making at him behind Hermione's back, "But ask him _why_! Go on! Ask him!"

Hermione turned back to him with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

Luckily for him, his mother chose to appear right at that moment with a handful of chocolate. She shoved it into Ron's hands. "Here you go," she said and looked around. And then her face burst out into a smile as she spotted Hermione.

"Hermione!" she said, "How are you? When did you arrive?"

Hermione blushed, much to Harry's utter confusion, and said in a rush, "I'm… fine, Mrs. Potter. I thought I'd arrive ahead of Mr Weasley to meet up with Harry and Ron. The others are still at the campsite."

"Hermione," Lily said, exasperated, "You may call me Lily. Each time you call me Mrs. Potter, I start ducking to avoid my mother-in-law."

Hermione nodded and smiled, but said nothing.

"What's with you?" Ron asked, as blunt as ever, and munched happily on his chocolate bar.

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione muttered, even as Lily brushed past her and marched up to Harry.

Harry frowned. Hermione's behavior was a bit… _off_ , around his mother, and he had absolutely no idea why. The two women hadn't really spoken much to each other in the past, but Hermione had met Lily a few times during the summer between their second and third years.

His thoughts were interrupted as he felt a hand squeeze his right bicep and practically steer him to a seat in the balcony. He looked up, startled and then relaxed as he saw that it was Lily.

Lily plopped down beside him, and a disturbingly flustered Hermione sat down on his other side. Ron, still munching on his chocolate, sat on Hermione's other side.

Harry surreptitiously looked around the balcony as he searched for Narcissa. She had promised to meet him – hell, she had even told him she had a seat in the balcony somewhere close to where he would be sitting.

"Harry?" Lily asked, and he turned to face her with a frown, "Looking for someone?"

"Uh…" he stuttered, "I…"

"Dad and my brothers should be coming along any moment now," Ron said, craning his neck as well. Harry silently thanked Ron for giving him an out.

"You aren't a Weasley if you aren't late," came Sirius' voice from his mother's other side, "That's practically their family motto."

"Oi!" Ron said, trying to look around Hermione, Harry and Lily at a chortling Sirius.

"Still better than _Toujours Pur_ ," Lily retorted on Ron's behalf. Hermione giggled.

"I was actually wondering about that," Sirius said, leaning to face them and taking the joke in stride, "I'm pretty sure I can change that motto now that I'm Black Lord and all that."

"Black Lord?" Lily asked faintly, as Ron snickered, " _Black Lord_? Really?"

Sirius winked at Ron and said, "Personally, I think it's more charming than say… _Dark_ Lord."

"Sirius," Lily said, exasperated, "Being random isn't the same as being funny."

"Oh yeah," Sirius said flatly, "Because you'd be the ultimate authority on fun, Miss Slug Lord."

"Sirius," Lily said, her voice menacing, "I told you idiots back in _third year_ about what would happen if you called me that ridiculous name again."

Sirius quickly reverted to his original suggestion, though Harry felt immensely curious about the name and wondered if it had something to do with Slughorn's Slug Club. "Anyway," his godfather said quickly, "I was just about to ask you for suggestions… for my family motto."

" _Toujours vicelard_ ," Lily said grumpily. Hermione burst into laughter and Lily smiled at the girl.

"That… actually sounds nice," Sirius said thoughtfully, "I like the sound of _vicelard_. I feel like a _vicelard_. Sounds glorious."

"Well," Hermione said, " _I_ think the name fits."

"Wait a minute," Sirius said, frowning at Lily and Hermione, who were both smiling deviously, "You guys are pulling my leg, aren't you? That means something really weird, doesn't it?"

"Sirius," Lily said with a sigh, "Your family motto is in _French_. Don't tell me you don't even _know_ the language your family motto is in."

"Bah," Sirius said, "I'm _English_ , Lily. A true Englishman never learns French."

"It's a romantic language, Sirius," Harry said, finally joining the conversation, "Or… uh… so they tell me."

Harry looked like he regretted saying the words as soon as they left his mouth.

" _Romantic_ language, eh?" Sirius said, mimicking Harry's tone and raising both of his eyebrows at Harry, "Or so _they_ tell me. Are we sure it's a _they_ , Harry? Or is it a _she_? Or is there more than one _she_ who told you all about how French is _romantic_?"

Lily frowned, crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat.

Hermione, completely confused, leaned beyond Harry and looked curiously at Sirius. "Right," she said, "It _really_ looks like I'm missing out on something important here."

"Ignore him," Harry said wearily, "He's just being a dogfather."

"Ha!" Sirius said triumphantly, and then turned to Lily. "See?" he asked, "Even Harry thinks the term is funny."

Lily merely huffed and stared straight ahead.

"Black," a smooth, cold voice interrupted their conversation, "Your terms are never as… inventive… as you think they are."

Both Lily and Sirius stiffened at the voice. And so did Harry, Ron and Hermione. He had heard it before, especially during his second, very eventful year. He turned around in his seat and glared at the sneering, pale face of Lucius Malfoy.

Lily rose up from her seat along with Sirius and nodded stiffly at the man.

Lucius bowed to Lily, much to Harry's surprise. "I'm not sure how I should address you," he said, his voice _almost_ apologetic, "Is it Mrs. Potter? Or is it Miss Potter? I was never… ah, acquainted… with muggle protocol."

"Mrs. Potter will do," Lily said coldly.

"Of course," Lucius said and then pointed behind him to reveal a younger version of himself.

This time, Harry, Ron and Hermione stood up stiffly, refusing to be caught off guard from behind.

"Malfoy," Harry said, trying to imitate his mother's cold tone and failing as his voice came out in a snarl.

"Potter, Weasel," Draco said with a sneer, not even bothering to address Hermione, "Guess they were selling the tickets cheap, eh Ronniekins?"

Harry could already see Ron's ears turning red.

"Draco," Lucius said with a mocking lilt to his voice, "Please. The powerful must also be humble. And generous to the more… destitute. Behave. And say hello to your future Potions Professor."

Harry grit his teeth as Draco sneered at them one last time and then bowed to greet his mother.

"Professor Potter," he said stiffly. A tiny, petty part of Harry was overjoyed at seeing Draco greet a muggleborn in such a respectful manner. But then again, his mother _was_ considered a hero – it would be unseemly to be less than gracious towards her in front of an audience, even if the balcony hadn't filled up to capacity yet.

"Mr. Malfoy," Lily said in a neutral voice, inclining her head at the boy.

"And I believe you two are acquainted with each other from long ago, Mrs. Potter," Lucius said, turning to indicate a woman descending the steps to the front of the balcony behind him.

"Lily," greeted a voice that had haunted Harry's most pleasant dreams for the past few weeks. His mother stiffened imperceptibly.

"Narcissa _Malfoy_ ," Lily spat at the woman Lucius had introduced.

Harry's head snapped to where Lucius was pointing and his jaw grew slack as he saw none other than… _Narcissa_ descending the steps. Narcissa _Malfoy_.

* * *

Harry did not notice the entrance of Cornelius Fudge. He did not even notice the rest of the Weasleys enter the balcony. Nor did he notice Sirius' taunting remarks to Lucius, who was sitting right behind them. He barely even noticed the Bulgarian Minister of Magic coming over and trying to flirt clumsily with his mother. And not even Draco's occasional cutting, not-so-subtle insults to the Golden Trio could rouse him from his stupor.

But he _did_ hear her voice, and his mother's, sniping at each other with cleverly masked insults.

Harry looked straight ahead, at the stadium that sprawled beneath him, but everything in front was a blur. And worse, _she_ was sitting right behind him. Her little verbal skirmish with Lily had long since ceased and he could now feel Narcissa's eyes on the back of his head.

His brain seemed to have frozen. Thoughts, whispers, memories coursed through him, but none of it made sense. _Nothing_ made sense.

' _To be fair_ ,' an oddly calm voice whispered in his mind, ' _She did keep her promise to meet up with you_.'

He was utterly confused. Her wandering hands, the hot touch of her skin on his, the warmth of her breath as she whispered instructions laced with innuendo to him, the warm light in her eyes as she discussed an exciting branch of magic with him, the lilac scent that drifted through the room as her flowing blonde locks caressed his neck…

Harry screwed his eyes shut and wondered when the world had turned upside down. Was this a plot? A scheme of some sort? Had he been exploited? Bent to her will? If so, why reveal herself to him so soon?

Had he even bothered to check for a ring? He had simply, so easily assumed that she was in her early twenties. And she did look like she was in her early twenties. He still couldn't believe that she was older than he had imagined, and that she was _married_. But there she was, sitting behind him between her husband – Lucius _fucking_ Malfoy – and her son – _Draco_.

Holy _fuck_.

Harry tried to breathe, to calm himself down, but memory upon memory washed over him. The lingering caresses, the duels and the spells. Her voice in his ear, alluring and enchanting, and her beautiful face, smiling ever so slyly as she teased him before blowing his mind with her impressive knowledge of deep magic.

 _Had it all been an act? If so, what was the end game?_

A voice called out, as if from a great distance. A voice that was so familiar, but a voice that he ignored, overwhelmed by his own thoughts.

 _She was married_. To _Malfoy_. Draco's _mother_. _Fucking hell_.

The distant voice became more insistent, fanning the flames of his bewilderment…

"Harry!" a furious voice burst through his haze, startling him and the world seemed to snap into focus as he was jolted from his stupor.

He turned around, bewildered, only to look into the warm, brown eyes of Hermione Granger.

"Harry," she asked in a low voice, "Are you… alright?"

Harry worked his mouth, but his brain had still not caught up with him. Words, gestures, _a crush_...

He looked away from Hermione, his face completely blank, only to land upon a very flustered Lily Potter trying to ignore an amorous Bulgarian Minister of Magic, who was trying to make conversation with her.

"Minister," Harry said coldly, secretly relieved to find a problem he _could_ tackle and letting go of his frustration and… _anger_ , "My mother is _very_ tired and came here to relax with her family. Please, go back to your seat. I'm sure Minister Fudge has a lot of important matters to discuss with you."

The Bulgarin grew stiff at Harry's words, but then his eyes looked into Harry's cold, green orbs and he gulped. And then retreated.

Lily flashed a smile at Harry and winked.

Harry turned away, his confusion still overwhelming.

 _Why? Why would she do that? Why would Narcissa do that to me?_

* * *

"Lily," Narcissa greeted the red-haired woman.

"Narcissa _Malfoy_ ," Lily spat at her.

And that was when she noticed a movement to Lily's right.

 _Harry_.

Narcissa took a calming, steady breath as she saw his eyes widen in naïve, _adorable_ confusion, his face betraying his every emotion. He looked frantically between her and Lucius, trying to comprehend _what_ was happening, and possibly _why_ it was happening.

Narcissa knew that she could not have kept her family name a secret forever. That someday, it _would_ be revealed to him. And she knew that the earlier it was revealed to him, the more time she had after to spin a web of allure around him.

But a part of her could not help but feel a bit sorry for him - the boy's wide-eyed, innocent view of the world would be shattered in an instant; his earlier crush on her, while adorable, was also tinged with naïveté. Earlier, she had been, in his mind, a single, older woman that he admired and desired.

Now, she was a married woman, and a mother. His crush was no longer pure, and his desire was now tinged with greed… for another man's wife.

And all she had to do with stoke the flames of his desire. The more she fanned away at him, the more _something_ inside of him – something rare and pure and strong - would change. His trust in the innate goodness of the people around him would shatter, and he would feel vulnerable and alone when it was all over.

For the first time in her life, Narcissa felt regret over what her actions had wrought, and would continue to wreak, upon another.

But then again, she had little say in the matter. She composed herself with a neutral glance at Harry, and turned back to Lily, avoiding Harry's stare, which was quickly turning into a hurtful glare.

"Congratulations on your Potions… Professorship, Lily," she said in a cool voice, "I'm glad our little Slug Club rivalry and all the broken cauldrons turned out well for you."

"And congratulations on your… marriage, Narcissa," Lily said, just as coldly with a raised eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I'm not aware of any of your other accomplishments, 'Cissa. _Are_ there any other accomplishments you have to your name, apart from marrying rich?"

Narcissa heard Sirius snort to Lily's left.

"Sirius," Narcissa said, her voice turning deceptively warm in an instant, "I _would_ say it's good to see you, but frankly, I'd rather ask after Kreacher's well-being."

"'Cissy, my dear old cousin!" Sirius said, his voice disturbingly happy, "Thanks for asking! I'll be sure to let the elf know you asked just before I mount his head on a pike."

"Oh hush, Sirius," Lily chided, her voice taking on a mocking lilt, "Let's not make her _too_ mad. It'll distract her from being a perfect trophy wife for her husband."

Narcissa's jaw tightened as she was outflanked in this battle of words. She eyed her husband and her son, but they seemed to be oblivious. Draco was busy trading remarks with the youngest Weasley boy and Granger, and her husband had moved away to greet Fudge, who had just entered the balcony.

"I'd love to continue this conversation, Lily," Narcissa said, "But I'm afraid I'll distract you from an opportunity to snag yet another powerful pureblood with your… wiles."

Lily opened her mouth to respond to the obvious barb at her previous marriage, but the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, who had been eyeing Lily since he had entered their booth, seemed to have worked up the courage to introduce himself to the famous widow.

Narcissa smirked as the man tried to say something charming to Lily and failed miserably, mostly due to his poor grasp of the language he was trying to woo the woman with. She took the seat right behind Harry, watching in amusement as Lily was reduced to giving Narcissa the occasional glare as she tried to fend off the Bulgarian minister. Sirius, much to her amusement, looked like he wanted to interfere, but then shrugged and walked away, possibly to get refreshments before the final started.

' _Good_ ,' Narcissa thought, ' _He should know when to let a woman fight her own damn battles_.'

Narcissa then glanced at the back of Harry's head, sighing internally at his bewildered reaction. And then she felt a bit annoyed at herself for feeling concerned. She noticed the Granger girl nudge him and ask if he was alright, but Harry merely looked away in his mother's direction.

And then, Narcissa felt a familiar sensation crawl over her skin. The warm tingle of his magic. He was _angry_. For a moment, she thought it was because he had just noticed the fact that his mother seemed to be fending off amorous advances from a stranger, but then she realized he had barely even registered the conversation Lily was having - his anger was actually directed at _her_ , or perhaps even himself. She noticed the tremble in his hands and the distant stare in his eyes as he turned his face sideways and Narcissa felt his magic hanging in the air, like a heavy weight that stifled the air around him.

He then proceeded to _intimidate_ the Minister away. Narcissa had never seen this side of him before – the angry, assertive, downright _scary_ side.

Narcissa smiled despite herself. He was a treasure trove of power – a treasure trove that she would soon unearth and unleash, stoke and train and bend to _her_ will.

Lily tried to smile at Harry, but he resolutely turned away and stared into the distance again.

Narcissa leaned forward. "Draco," she called out, "I'm heading up to the restroom."

Her son looked startled at her addressing him, but nodded. She smiled at him and tousled his hair affectionately as she moved away from her chair.

And just as she ascended the flight of stairs leading out from the balcony, she saw Harry shove off his seat, murmuring something to Granger.

Narcissa smiled. He had taken the bait.

* * *

"A nest of vipers, that family," Lily huffed as she glared behind her at Narcissa, but Harry paid her no mind.

He realized that he was suddenly aware of every movement she made behind his back, despite the fact that he desperately wanted to ignore her. He wanted to focus on his confusion, solve the puzzle that had swept him off his feet during the summer. Dimly, he realised that the game was about to start.

Then, he sensed Narcissa bending forward behind him and tensed. Her voice cut right through the noise. "Draco," she said, and he suppressed a shiver of disgust at the fact that she was _Draco's_ mother, "I'm heading up to the restroom."

He heard the click of her heels as she walked away; he snapped his head around and looked past Draco, who was too busy staring at some woman in the back row anyway. He saw Narcissa heading up the balcony and got up automatically. "Harry?" Hermione asked him, puzzled.

Harry groaned internally. For once, he could make do without Hermione watching him like an over-protective mother hen. He looked around and sighed as he saw that his mother was watching him curiously as well.

Much to his relief and annoyance though, Ron pointed to somewhere right below the balcony and said, "Hey Harry! Over there!"

Harry watched Narcissa walk up with a frustrated glance and then tore his eyes away from the sway of her hips to look at where Ron was pointing. Right beneath the balcony, at least twenty feet away and forty feet below them, in the common seating area, was Cho Chang.

Ron had inadvertently given him an opening. "Ron… never mind," he said and grinned weakly at Lily. "I… uh… I'll just be a while," he finished, and hurried to follow Narcissa.

He pushed past a house elf, of all the beings in the world that would be in a dignitaries' box for the Quidditch World Cup, but he paid it no mind. He pushed past several dignitaries as well, barely keeping up with Narcissa's brisk pace. Despite himself, he admired the manner in which she effortlessly parted crowds for passage, while he had to barrel his way past them – though he supposed being an uncommonly beautiful woman would give one that sort of ability.

And then, just when he thought he could corner her near the restrooms, which were on their right, Narcissa took a left and headed further up.

Harry cursed and hurried to catch up with her, stepping through a rune-activated perimeter ward that told him he was walking into a service area.

And then came a dizzying flight of steps that Harry ascended with ease, thanks to the regular jogging he had taken up since he had first met Narcissa.

Before he knew it, he had burst out onto a flat, open area with nary a crowd in sight. He could still hear the roar of the crowds below him and the obnoxious sounds of various announcements, but he could also hear the dull roar of the wind now, and feel it blowing against his face. He realized he was right on top of the enclosure that housed the stadium, on some sort of service platform or terrace.

Narcissa had _intended_ for him to follow her.

Harry walked warily up to Narcissa, who was standing with her back to him, right at the edge of the terrace. He glanced ahead and saw a massive shimmering barrier that flickered in and out of his vision, seemingly anchored to the space between the audience and the Quidditch pitch. The barrier seemed to flow all around the circular stadium, separating the audience from the crowds, though it only appeared translucent far above the crowds, so as not to impede their view of the match.

"It's called a Quidditch shield," Narcissa said neutrally and Harry turned to face her, "A simple name for a very powerful magical shield. It protects us – the audience - from stray bludgers and the like. Most Quidditch stadiums – the good ones anyway – have these set up before a match."

And there she was again. Her eyes lighting up in familiar fashion as she imparted another little lesson on magic to him. He watched her lush hair, even as tightly wound as it was into beautiful ringlets that fell elegantly past her shoulders, sway with the wind, and as she turned, he noticed the unconscious grace that she managed to imbue every single movement with.

"Why?" he asked, barely managing to shake himself out of his infatuation, and he noticed Narcissa flinch at the confusion in his voice.

She turned to face him, her blue eyes looking into his green, unflinching, but she said nothing. The crowd continued to roar below them. For all Harry knew, the match had already started. And strangely, he could not bring himself to care as he glanced at her azure eyes.

"I mean… what was all this?" Harry asked, spreading his arms out, "I'm… I don't… was it… calculated? Was this because I don't get along with your son?"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed and glimmered with irritation. "This has _nothing_ to do with Draco," she said coldly, startling Harry. Her voice softened immediately and her eyes grew sad and lonely, stirring Harry's heart. "Can't I just enjoy a young man's company, Harry?"

Harry fumbled for words – he didn't quite know what to say. And in the pale light of the stars, he saw the glint of the ring on her left hand and cursed himself for not even _looking_ for it before.

"You're _married_!" he yelped, "You… I…"

Narcissa's eyes turned cold again, but there was vulnerability hidden in the depths of those orbs. "Lucius hasn't touched me since our wedding day, Harry," she said, her voice taking on a mocking lilt that he could tell was directed at her husband rather than at him, "And _that_ was only because he had to."

Harry shook his head in a disbelieving manner. "You're lying," he said, "There's no way he could resist _you_."

And he half-regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Narcissa's eyes twinkled and she smiled. "Oh, Harry," she said, her voice taking on that familiar, low purr that he knew he would be hard-pressed to resist, "Is that flattery I hear? In the middle of an argument, no less?"

"I didn't mean it that way," he said quickly as she closed the distance between them, her eyes growing more predatory with each step, "No, I don't… this isn't…"

He backed away frantically as she closed in until he collided with a buttress he didn't even know was there.

"Careful now," Narcissa said, a foot away from him, her hand touching his chest gently, "We wouldn't want you falling over the _edge_ now, would we? Especially now that we're about to… make up."

"Make… up?" Harry asked, stupefied, his desire chipping away at him.

Narcissa's face was inches away from his own now, and he felt the soft swell of her breasts against his chest.

Harry's hands curled into fists as he resisted the impulse to grab her and feel those succulent, _beautiful_ lips caress his flesh.

"Are you angry, Harry?" she breathed, sounding childlike and innocent and Harry started, his arousal growing with every word that _teased_ out between her ruby-red lips.

"I… no," Harry murmured, barely even breathing he strove to keep his glance fixed upon her face, barely an inch away from him.

"Good," Narcissa whispered, and Harry felt her familiar lilac scent waft up his nostrils again, charging his senses with _desire_ , which clashed with the anger that rose up within him, berating him for falling for her _again_.

"Focus, Harry," Narcissa said softly, "Channel the frustration. The _rage_."

Her lips were practically on his own now and Harry felt his heart shuddering against his ribs, his blood pounding in his ears and his hands trembling with need.

"I'm not going to cast a spell, Narcissa," Harry whispered.

And much to his surprise, she curled her legs around his, planted her feet on the floor and then straightened them abruptly, so that his knees buckled and he fell backwards, landing on his buttocks on the roof of the stadium.

Harry was never one to give up easily. He used the momentum of his fall to roll and his wand rushed into his hand in a smooth motion, the result of numerous duelling sessions with her.

A translucent purple shield flickered into existence between them even as a bright pink light pooled onto it from Narcissa's wand. The shield exploded into tiny wisps and Harry rolled away from his prone position on the ground, only to smack right into a shower of soft red petals that Narcissa had conjured around him.

And Harry gasped as he felt an open palm _slap_ right onto his backside. He jerked forward, blushing, and whirled, only to behold a smirking Narcissa looking right back at him, her eyes challenging and her left palm facing him. "Nice and firm," she said in a low purr that was practically _electric_ , "I _like_ it."

Her left hand then curled around a spot on her robes near her upper thigh as she pulled and a knot somewhere seemed to come loose as her previously form-fitting bodice came apart along an invisible seam. Her conservative robes morphed before his very eyes into an incredible open leg gown and Harry gaped at the shapely, _smooth_ leg that emerged and shone in the floodlights of the stadium.

"First rule about duelling, Harry," she said, her low voice and her bare leg still sending pleasant tingles up his spine, "Your opponents _never_ play fair."

Another stream of magic burst from her wand, blinding him and he staggered backwards, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Light fingertips rushed over his left arm, but vanished as soon as he clutched at them desperately, hoping, _praying_ that her wonderful touch lasted longer.

He _wanted_ her. He _desired_ her. He did not care who she was, nor who she had been.

His vision cleared and he beheld Narcissa again, her hand on her hip, with an elegant raised eyebrow and head cocked to one side, her gaze bewitching and her curves pronounced by her pose. He gulped as his eyes trailed down her every feature, from her lush blonde hair with nary a lock out of place, to the smooth convex curves of her heaving bosom, to the wonderfully curved hips down to her legs that seemed to go on forever.

 _Merlin, she's beautiful_.

And before he knew it, his body froze. Stone cuffs erupted from the Earth and bound him around his fist and ankles. Narcissa then let his body fall out of her magical bind.

Harry struggled to free himself, but the cuffs held him in place.

Narcissa then curled her fist and pushed upwards; the tip of her wand glimmered with magic. Harry felt a ramp rise up underneath his upper body, pushing him upward so that he was actually seated at an angle.

The blonde made a disapproving sound. "Tsk," she said, "I thought I taught you better than that, love. _Never_ get distracted by the enemy."

* * *

Narcissa felt highly gratified at the idea that Harry was enamoured by her, and she would be lying if she said there was not at least a touch of guilt colouring her smug satisfaction. She watched, half amused and half curious, as Harry struggled to free himself from her stone bindings – she had long since summoned his wand to herself.

And that was when she felt his magic seeping through the air once more, powerful and ominous.

She felt it rumbling around her, blowing around her with the wind, but more surreal, distorting the very air around her. He was concentrating, drawing upon his magic, hemming it in and building it up so that he could unleash it with explosive force.

Just like _she_ had taught him. For a moment, she was almost proud. Proud, and amused.

She laughed. "You don't really have a wand, Harry," she said.

Harry merely grunted and the air continued to tingle around her. She double-checked to make sure that her cuffs were still holding his hands and legs to the ground, but then noticed that the cuffs she had transfigured were actually _vibrating_. It was almost imperceptible, but she could still see it, as plain as his green irises. Although, the cuffs were in no danger of breaking up.

"Harry," Narcissa said, exasperated, "Not even the most powerful wizard could break out of those cuffs without a wand."

And then, the pull of magic ceased abruptly. "Uh," Harry rasped, his voice sounding panicked, "Narcissa… shite."

She started at his addition of an expletive to her name, intending to glare at him, but then saw that he hadn't directed it at her. He had directed it at something behind her.

She whirled around only to find that before her, clawing and screeching with long talons and cruel, curved beaks at the translucent barrier were a few dozen vicious looking avian creatures, desperately trying to lunge at them.

* * *

"Oooooooh!" Ron gasped along with the crowd as the bludger barely missed one of the Irish chasers.

Hermione, however, did not quite catch the movement and gave up, exasperated. There were _way_ too many things to keep track of and she had no idea how the others enjoyed it. It felt like a chore, and the players were moving much faster than she was accustomed to at Hogwarts. She looked to her left and saw that Lily had long since given up trying to keep track of the match with Omnioculars, instead resorting to plain eyesight.

Hermione found her attention wavering - she looked at the battle raging above, where the veela and the leprechauns seemed to be clashing against each other, with the occasional flare of magic from the wand of a Ministry worker trying to separate the two groups. Fireballs blazed against shimmering green shields all over the place. To Hermione's eye, the leprechauns were losing the battle, and badly at that – while leprechauns had a bit of skill with creating showers of gold coins, that seemed to be their only proper magical skill.

The magical world had never really made sense to her – while in the muggle world, traits such as defensive camouflage and offensive attacks could be explained away by the mechanics of adaptation, genetics and evolution, the magical world didn't quite conform to those explanations. For what possible reason could the leprechauns have evolved the ability to make gold? Did magic even depend on genes and environment in the first place?

Hermione frowned and looked over at Lily, wondering if she could ask the beautiful redhead about it. And then she wondered if Lily had ever thought about it, or researched it, being so well-versed in Magical Theory.

Half the balcony suddenly burst into shrieks, causing Hermione to focus on the match again, wondering if someone had managed to snag the Snitch.

But it wasn't the match that had caught the attention of everyone on the balcony. It was the battle raging above the match.

The veela had all broken off from their battle with the leprechauns and seemed to be headed straight for the very balcony in which she was seated.

Hermione scrambled for her wand, but Lily reached out across Harry's empty seat and placed an arm over Hermione's, stopping her from casting spells at the veela.

"There's a shield barrier separating us from them," Lily said loudly, attempting to communicate over the screams of alarm around them, "They can't hurt us from the outside, but _we_ can from the inside. So… don't hurt the veela unless they break through the barrier."

Hermione nodded and took a deep calming breath as she held her wand out and aimed at the veela without firing. Much to her relief, the veela streamed past the balcony and ascended even higher, right above the roof over their heads.

"How high does the barrier go?" Hermione asked, wondering if the veela could just hop over it.

Lily merely shrugged, tracking the veelas' ascent. After a while, she said, "Look, they've stopped."

Hermione craned her neck to peer above them and noticed that the veela had all frozen in mid-air with their wings softly flapping away as they looked at something on top of the roof. And then, with a screech, they all tried to swoop onto the roof, but a translucent barrier shimmered into visibility, stopping the veela from descending. The veela clawed away at the barrier, emitting loud screeches, but the barrier refused to yield.

Hermione took more, deep calming breaths. She looked over at Lily in awe.

"You were pretty calm there in the face of a veela horde," she ventured.

Lily smiled at her. "Live through a war, Hermione," she said warmly, "And even a horde of rampaging veela are just a walk in the park."

The veela were still flailing away at the barrier in vain for some reason known only to them. Hermione looked away from Lily. "I wonder where Harry is," she said to no one in particular as the match continued around them.

* * *

"What are they?" Harry asked, completely bewildered. Narcissa noted that he was _still_ trying to wriggle out of his cuffs.

"Veela," Narcissa said, calmly curling her fist around her gown as it reverted to the fashionable, but conservative robes she had first worn. She smoothed them over, ignoring the screeching veela, and brushed her hair, tidying up her appearance. She then drew her own wand and warily looked over at the frantic creatures. "Probably mascots for the Bulgarian team," she said, after making sure that the veela weren't able to get through the shield.

"Quidditch teams have mascots?" Harry asked blankly, "And _please_ get me out of here and away from them."

Narcissa ignored him and watched the veela, wondering why they were trying to fly towards them. She noticed that they weren't even looking her way. They were trying to claw their way to something in Harry's direction.

Narcissa wondered why she hadn't heard them before. If they had been there from the beginning of this little… tryst – for what they were doing wasn't quite duelling, so much as an elaborate dance, at least on her part - then she should have noticed them.

But she hadn't. Which probably meant the veela had attacked their location sometime _during_ their encounter.

And it all snapped into place as she realized with a start that the veela were actually clawing to get _at_ Harry, rather than to get at something around him.

"The magic," she gasped.

"What?" Harry asked, still maintaining eye contact with the veela.

Narcissa waved her wand at his prone form impatiently and his cuffs crumbled away. He frantically backed away, while simultaneously pulling his wand out of his sleeve in a smooth motion and pointing it in the direction of the veela horde.

"They won't get through the barrier," Narcissa said reassuringly, "But I think they're trying to get at _you_."

"Me?" Harry asked, bewildered, "Why?"

"They're… predators, Harry," Narcissa said as she fastened her pumps, which had fallen to the side as their _duel_ had begun, to her feet, "Their prey are _mates_. They're creatures that are apparently designed to ensnare powerful magical beings of other species. Such as humans."

Harry stared at her, and then reverted to watching the veela.

"So why aren't they trying to get to you?" he asked.

"Because I'm female," Narcissa said, "They mate with _males_. Usually, they keep to male nymphs to breed true, but sometimes, they get a taste for other species. Like ours."

Harry still looked bewildered. "But why me?" he asked, "There are plenty of wizards down below. Including that desperate Bulgarian who was trying to hit on my mother."

Narcissa frowned.

"Veela are uniquely sensitive to magic, Harry," she said, "They can _sense_ it. On a level that most witches and wizards cannot even begin to imagine. Your little display attracted them, though _this_ is a mating frenzy I've never actually seen before."

"But I failed," Harry said weakly, though he blushed just as she had mentioned mating, "I didn't get out of your cuffs."

"Harry," Narcissa said exasperated, "Even Albus Dumbledore couldn't have gotten out of those cuffs."

And then Narcissa's brain caught up with what she had just said. She retched at the thought, but Harry laughed uneasily.

She then walked towards him, seized his hand and resolutely led him away from the roof and down the staircase whence they had come.

"The Ministry workers shall shoo them away," she said, "I can't have them catching us up there."

Harry's smile vanished.

"You… I…" he stammered, apparently still unsure as to where they stood with each other.

Narcissa slammed him into the side of the aisle and held his cheeks firmly, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"Harry," she said, and bit her lips. "I'm doing this because I _want_ to do this. I've been trapped in a loveless marriage that I want no part of for what seems like forever.

"And I enjoy your lovely company. I enjoy teaching you, being with you."

 _Using you_.

Narcissa brushed her dark thoughts away and continued, "It's been far too long since I just… had fun. Being with you, spending time with you… is only a part of that whole… experience."

"But if they ever find out…" Harry said and trailed off, "I mean, it's not like… we're doing anything funny… but…"

Narcissa sighed. For all his power, he was still a fourteen-year-old boy. She tended to forget that.

"I'll make sure they _won't_ ," she said, "And even if they do, I'll protect you." Her voice softened and Harry shuddered as she pressed up against him with a smirk.

"Harry," she said gently and firmly, "We _will_ meet again. I promise. And a _Black_ always keeps her promises."

Harry's raised eyebrows indicated that he had noticed the use of the Black surname, as opposed to Malfoy. He nodded, then sighed as she drew away.

She let go of his hands. She gave him one last smile and walked briskly away from him, turning left at the bottom of the stairs to enter the women's restroom, leaving Harry watching her wistfully in the shadows of the narrow staircase she had just vacated. She glanced at him right as she turned the corner though, and waved.

Her prey had taken the bait. And never had a predator felt less satisfied and yet, happier, than her.

* * *

Hermione Granger was a very perceptive girl. She knew her sharp observations _could_ be annoying when employed against a friend, so she tried to keep herself restrained when push came to shove.

Right now though, she could tell she was being annoying, especially by the look on Harry's face.

Ron had told her, right after Harry had abruptly left the balcony that he was probably going to meet Cho, who was apparently Harry's girlfriend now.

And Hermione really _really_ doubted it. Which wasn't to say that she thought Cho Chang was out of Harry's league – but the girl just seemed a bit too… vacuous and emotional to sustain Harry's interest for long. And when Ron had told her about Harry's long meetings with the girl during their Quidditch camp stint, she was really confused. There was no way Harry was having long, stimulating conversations with Cho Chang, of all people. The girl might be a Ravenclaw and a year above them, but Hermione had talked to her before and frankly, the girl was not even in _her_ league.

Which probably meant Harry was having sex with Cho Chang. But she doubted that too – Cho had never really been one for celebrity and she was known to be a prude, at least according to the Hogwarts grapevine.

So Hermione had watched Cho Chang talk animatedly with the blonde girl who always hung around her in the seats below the balcony. And not once had she seen Harry approach her after he had vacated his seat.

"You know this Chang girl?" Lily had asked her and Hermione started as she realised that Lily had followed her gaze.

Hermione wanted to blurt out that she doubted Harry was dating Chang, but she realized that this was an occasion where her observations could actually get Harry into trouble. Maybe he was dating Chang, and maybe Chang and he were just talking about things, or taking long walks around the moors, or _something_.

And then, the match had begun and Harry _still_ had not returned. Sirius had been dispatched to look for him. Halfway through the match, and after the excitement the veela had generated with their sudden charge to the balcony roof, Harry had finally returned, along with Sirius, who told them all with much good humour that he'd found Harry lost on the wrong staircase.

And that set off more alarms in Hermione's mind. This wasn't Hogwarts – the stadium had a relatively simple structure and Harry certainly wasn't a dunce. He had an amazing sense of direction and he wouldn't just stand around on a staircase in the first place, hoping to be found.

It was a case of the story being plausible, but not probable.

And then she had noticed how Harry wore a faint smile on his face – a surprising about turn from his earlier stiff demeanour.

There was something Harry was not telling them. If it were Ron, Hermione would simply assume he had tried to sneak into the Quidditch lockers to get a player's autograph or something and then been thrown out. Or had perhaps tried to jump a veela only to be rebuffed.

But this wasn't Ron. This was _Harry_.

If there was something Harry was not telling them, it usually meant there was something really, _really_ wrong going on. The boy was practically a trouble magnet.

And to make things worse, Harry had suddenly retreated into what she called his 'stoic mode'. He was giving her laconic answers to every question. When prompted to divulge if he had just been with Cho, he mumbled something lame about trying to find his way down and failing, going with the opening Sirius had granted him.

He had missed half a Quidditch match, and he couldn't be bothered to listen to Ron recap the part of the match he had missed.

That did it for her.

Hermione was going to keep a very, _very_ close eye on Harry Potter during the upcoming year – there was only a week of vacation left to go, anyway. He might have a mother now, but Lily hadn't known him long enough to know there was something _very_ fishy going on with the Boy-Who-Lived.


	6. A Dinner and a Rhyme

_A/N: More of a character study than a plot-mover, but hope you guys enjoy it!_

* * *

 _Sound and fury. Wooden panels chipping away with the force of the storm. Panels that float away into the ether, dissolving violently into sawdust and fire._

 _And she's paralyzed. She cannot move. Frozen for an eternity. She tries to speak, but she has no tongue. She tries to move, but she is bound in place by an immovable force._

 _But she needs to move. She needs to speak. She needs her magic… she can feel it leaving her, abandoning her, floating away like the wooden panels of her bedroom walls._

 _A skeletal face snarls at her and she screams wordlessly – but the face cannot hear her screams._

 _"_ _Lily!" a voice screams._

 _Harry! She tries to scream back, but her body remains frozen in horror, unable to move, unable to power through her petrifaction._

 _Golden threads intertwine around her, their weight overwhelming and their movements unstoppable. They whisper to her – she cannot make out the words, but she can see the after-images the words impress upon her very mind… her soul. Destiny. Power. Corruption. A thousand words they whisper in her mind, and yet, she cannot act upon them. She is helpless, trapped by fate and magic, yearning to save her son._

 _"_ _Lily!" Harry screams again, "Mother!"_

 _The golden threads – which have now coalesced into a golden rope – reach out towards her, coil around her core and then whip out. A red spray bursts from her chest – but it is not blood. It is… something else. Something deeper. More powerful. More draining. The spray liquefies and settles on the golden ropes. The ropes then move behind her, towards… Harry._

 _The whispers grow stronger. The threads are alive now. The skeletal face looms ever closer. But that blood-red haze – her love – is gone. She is empty now, a husk, bereft of all emotion._

 _A flash of green light._

 _"_ _MOTHER!" he screams, but she feels nothing. She is not his mother. Not anymore._

 _"_ _MOTHER! MOM! MUM! MUM! MUM?"_

 _"_ _Ma'am?"_

* * *

"Ma'am?"

Lily woke up with a start from her desk and sat upright in her chair, only to be greeted with the sight of Harry Potter.

A very abashed looking Harry Potter.

"Uh," he said uneasily, "Sorry. I didn't know you were asleep."

Lily rubbed the back of her neck and smiled at Harry.

"That's… alright," she said, her dream still vivid in her mind, "Were… were you screaming just now?"

Harry looked confused. "I might have been a bit loud," he said after a pause, "But… I don't really think I was screaming."

"Wait," Lily said, finally registering _what_ Harry had called her, "Did you just call me… 'Ma'am'?"

Harry shifted from foot to foot and studiously avoided her gaze.

"I…," he said, desperately fishing for a different topic, "Uh… lunch just arrived. I already paid the delivery guy. Here."

Lily smiled as Harry handed her the packed lunch she had ordered. "I see," she said brusquely, still trying to get over the disturbing dream and the even more perturbing mode of address Harry had just used, "Well, I'm _starving_. So, want to join me?"

Harry gave her another abashed look. "I've already eaten," he said.

He then paused for another moment, looking at Lily with concern. Lily knew she probably made for a very weird sight – her fiery hair was all over the place and she was probably flushed from the dream. Harry looked as if he wanted to say something, and Lily raised her eyebrow, as if in warning.

So he shrugged to himself and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Immediately after Harry had left, Lily cast a silencing charm at the door and cursed as loudly as possible.

 _Dammit_ , _Lily_ , she thought, _you need to get closer to him, not push him away_.

* * *

Narcissa was not accustomed to compartmentalizing her emotions. Especially emotions such as guilt.

Which was not to say that she wore her emotions on her sleeve; it was just that before her marriage to Lucius, she had always taken pride in being a calm and quietly confident sort of girl. And after her marriage to Lucius, she had never had much opportunity to feel _any_ emotion, except during her interactions with her beloved son.

"Draco," Narcissa said sternly, "You need to continue your dueling lessons. If you refuse to train under a tutor, you can train with me."

"Oh, please, mother," Draco scoffed, "I do not think there is much that is left to teach, or much for me to learn, especially from Mister Oxley."

"Mister Oxley is a fine teacher," Narcissa snapped. Recently, she had found herself getting annoyed by Draco's habitual arrogance more often. Granted, she _loved_ her son with all her heart, but sometimes, she thought they'd spoiled him too much. "And he has a _lot_ to teach you, but he cannot do so if you keep cancelling your lessons!"

Draco looked annoyed at her rebuke. "Mother," he said in an exasperated voice, "His last lesson was on the _Levitation Charm_. Who _cares_ about a levitation charm? It's stuff I mastered in my first year at Hogwarts!"

"Clearly not," Narcissa said, "He was trying to teach you the basics of how to go about modifying spells. The levitation charm need not be performed in so constrained a manner. Charms can be tweaked by will. By controlling the power you force through your wand, you can control the rate at which you harness the magic around you, and thus affect factors such as the speed of levitation, or the direction…"

Narcissa stopped as she realized that Draco had already zoned out.

"Draco," Narcissa pleaded, "Please. For me. Just continue your lessons with Mister Oxley."

Draco looked even more annoyed now.

"Father says such skills are passé, mother," Draco said in a snide voice, "He says only the crass and foolish resort to such vulgar activities as duelling to achieve their objectives. _He_ says that it is manipulation and politics where a _real_ man makes his mark."

"You're twisting your father's words out of context and you know it," Narcissa snapped, trying not to grit her teeth at the mention of her 'husband.' "Your father is accomplished in the art of duelling himself. Strength and confidence come from _within_ , Draco. Powerful wizards and witches make for powerful politicians because they know they can back their manipulations with force if push comes to shove."

"I'm not learning the levitation charm again, mother," Draco said with an air of finality, "I'd rather learn _real_ magic with Professor Yordanova."

"While I admit that Yordanova is highly knowledgeable in the field of advanced magic," Narcissa said in what she hoped was a placating voice, "Advanced magic, Draco, is hard to master without _control_. And Professor Yordanova is a… theorist. She can wield spells in an impressive manner, but what use are spells if all they do is dazzle?"

Narcissa knew she was purposely skirting around the _real_ reason Draco was so interested in Professor Yordanova.

"Yes, but she knows her stuff, and she knows the _true_ power of magic, mother," Draco said in an excited voice, " _Dark_ magic."

"Oh, please," Narcissa said, resisting the urge to palm her face, " _I_ probably know more so-called 'Dark Magic' then she does."

"I'm _not_ going for one more stupid duelling lesson," Draco said petulantly, "And that's the end of the discussion. I want more lessons with Professor Yordanova."

"More lessons with the attractive female teacher, over an older male teacher," Narcissa said, exasperated with her son's stubbornness, "Why did I not see that coming?"

Draco spluttered. "I… do not find… attractive… _please_."

And with a swish of his robes, Draco left her quarters at a brisk pace.

Narcissa palmed her face.

And then she was annoyed with herself for getting annoyed at the whole situation.

It was only natural for Draco to want to spice up his life and get out of taxing lessons on the duelling arts. He was, after all, a teenage boy. And Narcissa had been comfortable with his behaviour before. So why was she getting annoyed now?

 _You know why that is_ , a part of her – a depressingly truthful part of her – whispered, _Harry_.

 _Oh shut up_.

But Narcissa knew it was true. Harry's diligence, his tenacity, his determination to power through whatever she threw at him and emerge at the other end in shining form, having mastered whatever she had taught him – it had all impressed her. And charmed her. And more.

Her own son wasn't measuring up to Harry's ability to wield magic. That was an alarming thought.

But more alarming was the fact that Harry's face kept popping up more and more often in her previously dull and monotone life. Time she would usually spend shopping, or spoiling her son, was consumed by thoughts of her teenage… friend? Companion?

 _Victim_.

Narcissa buried her face in her palms.

 _This is ludicrous_ , she thought.

* * *

"Come in," Lily said as she heard a soft knock on her door.

Harry's head peeked in through the door.

"Have you finished lunch?" he asked hesitantly, "May I speak to you?"

"Harry, please," Lily said with a sigh, "For the love of all that is good and holy, you don't have to be so formal."

Harry looked slightly alarmed.

' _Dammit, Lily_ ,' she thought to herself, ' _Too strong. Way too strong. Dial it back down_.'

"Okay," Harry said very slowly, still peeking past the door, "Uh… so, you're free to talk."

Lily did not trust herself to speak, so she nodded mutely.

"Oh," Harry said and entered her room. He then paused as he looked at her desk, which was swamped with parchments and texts.

"Just drawing up a syllabus for the NEWT-level students," Lily said, gesturing to the mess, "I keep revising the damn thing – I don't want to treat advanced students like children."

"Is Professor Slughorn's syllabus not good enough or something?" Harry asked.

"Oh no," Lily said, "But I don't really have Horace's… flair… for social interaction. It's okay if he walks into a class and starts things off with a joke and an improper comment or two. But if _I_ do it, it'll look really, really weird. And there's also the fact that Horace is a practiced hand at this sort of thing – he's been a Potions Professor for ages! The students trusted him, they…"

"You'll do _fine_ ," Harry said in a firm voice, interrupting her rant, "In fact, I'm pretty sure you'll do great. Remus told me Professor McGonagall was really impressed with your presentation and ideas for class."

Despite herself, Lily beamed. "Minerva is too kind," she said graciously.

"Not in my experience," Harry said lightly.

"So," Lily asked, casually leaning on the desk, "You interested in taking Potions lessons with me over the next week? Just to test things out?"

Harry looked nonplussed.

Lily laughed. "I'm kidding, Harry," she said, "I'd hardly think you'd want to take classes during a school vacation of all things."

"Actually," Harry said quietly, "If you want to test out your teaching skills, I'd be happy to take a few classes with you. I'll even call Hermione over – that way, you'll be prepared for all sorts of questions during class."

Lily smiled. "I think I'm going to take you up on that offer, Harry," she said.

"There's only a week left though," Harry said.

"You sure Hermione won't be annoyed?" Lily asked.

Harry's lips quirked into a smile. "Starting school before school officially starts? Hermione's going to be over the moon."

Lily giggled.

"So," she said at last, "You came all the way up here to volunteer for summer classes?"

"Oh, right," Harry said, his hesitant tone returning, "That. Yes."

Lily arched an eyebrow as she glanced at a seemingly flustered Harry. For a moment, something stirred within her as he watched him stammer – some faint stirring of the heart, she hoped.

"Er," Harry said, "I… uh… I was wondering if…"

"Harry?" Lily asked as he trailed off.

"I'mtiredofeatingout," Harry burst out.

"I… what?" Lily asked, completely confused.

Harry blushed. "I'm… er… to be honest, I'm a bit… I mean… the food is great… but I was wondering if we could… er… eat in today," he said.

"We always eat in," Lily said, still confused at the direction of the conversation.

"Yes, but we order _out_ ," Harry said softly.

"Oh," Lily said. And then after a pause, she finally got the gist of the conversation. " _Oh!_ Right. Eat in. Like… a home-cooked meal."

Harry smiled.

Lily flushed. If she was entirely honest with herself, she too was sick of eating out. In Godric's Hollow, James had an old house elf – Nappy – who had cooked for them. The poor elf had died a week before the most dreadful night of her life, when she'd lost everything. After that point, James and Lily had done what they could with the meagre culinary skills they did possess, but there hadn't been much opportunity to fuss over food under the Fidelius.

"Yes," Lily said, "Uh… I'll get out my cookbook… and try and whip something up… I just… Harry, I'm not very good at that sort of thing."

It was Harry's turn to look confused. "I don't…" he said, "Wait. No, oh no! That's not what I meant at all! No, no, _I'll_ cook."

Lily froze. "What?" she asked, "You cook?"

"Yeah," Harry said with a shrug.

"Are you sure?" Lily asked. After all, neither she nor James were exactly what one would call a great chef. Or a standard chef. Or even a sub-standard one.

"Yes," Harry said. He then paused and continued in a modest tone, "Well, I'm not exactly what you'd call an amazing cook, but I _can_ cook. I mean… we can still order out if you want…"

"No!" Lily said quickly, "We… well, you can cook. Do I need to go get supplies?"

Harry eyed the mountain of parchment on her desk.

"Not really," he said, "I can go get those myself from the Sainsbury's around the corner."

Lily was grateful. "Sure," she said and gestured to the shelf beside her bed, "There's money in the top drawer over there."

Lily then paused to watch Harry head up to the shelf and sift through the muggle currency in there.

 _That wasn't too bad. I… can at least be friendly with him. Sort of._

"Forty quid," Harry said, "Just in case."

Lily nodded.

They stared at each other for a moment, but Lily found herself with absolutely nothing to say.

Eventually, after a very awkward few seconds, Harry nodded at her and left the room.

Lily silenced the door and groaned.

 _This is getting ridiculous_ , she thought.

* * *

Harry hummed a tuneless song to himself as he waited for the watercress to wilt in the skillet in front of him. He glanced at the patties broiling away in the oven and then shrugged as he noticed they hadn't quite cooked through.

He marvelled at the nature of the artefacts the wizarding world possessed. The Salisbury steaks he was preparing would have taken at least thirty minutes to cook in the electrical oven that Aunt Petunia had used in the Dursley household. And in his mother's magical, rune-activated oven, the steaks were cooking wonderfully within a span of five minutes – the oven seemed to _sense_ what he was preparing, in a manner of speaking.

' _Magic is a wonderful thing_ ,' Harry thought. He then noticed that the leafy vegetables had wilted just the right amount, so he tapped his wand on the right set of runes, thanking his decision to take up Ancient Runes in the process – the cooker would have thoroughly confused him had it not been for his knowledge of elementary runes.

Suddenly, the fire at the hearth blazed green, making Harry jump and point his drawn wand in its direction. He relaxed as he saw Sirius Black step out with a smile.

"Harry!" Sirius exclaimed, "Good to see you!"

"Indeed," said a quieter male voice. Harry smiled as he saw Remus Lupin turn up through the floo right behind Sirius, "And that smells _delicious_."

Sirius sniffed the air imperiously. And then closed his eyes in bliss. "Oh boy, that smells amazing," Sirius said wistfully, "Haven't had a nice home-cooked steak in ages."

Harry laughed. "You guys staying for dinner?" Harry asked. "I can make more of these in minutes."

Sirius and Remus stared at each other forlornly. "Unfortunately," Remus sighed, "No… I hold Sirius culpable for tonight."

"Oi!" Sirius said indignantly, "I didn't know the Potters were having _home-made_ dinner today!"

"Or that Harry was such a good cook," Remus said.

Harry laughed again. "Alright, alright," he said with his palms raised, "You guys don't have to resort to flattery. I get the hint - I'll invite you all for dinner before school starts again."

Sirius elbowed Remus. "See?" Sirius said, "Flattery works. All the time. Even with the men."

"Good to know," Remus said mildly.

"Not that I'm… y'know… into men," Sirius added.

"Uh huh," Harry said dubiously.

"Oi!"

Harry changed the topic, for Sirius' sake. "How do you guys know my mother didn't make this?" Harry asked.

Sirius palmed his face. Remus smiled and said, "We've… eaten Lily's cooking before. And James', for that matter."

"Yup," Sirius said, "And trust me, I'd rather eat Hagrid's rock cakes again, than be invited for a Lily and James… er… _special_."

Harry shook his head.

"Well," Sirius added pointing to the skillet, "At least you're bucking the family tradition."

"The family tradition?" asked a very menacing female voice from the staircase that wound down to the hall, "I wonder what that is."

"Ixnay on the Potter cooking tradition," Sirius whispered to Remus and Harry, "Lily's _very_ sensitive."

"I heard that," Lily said delicately as she entered the hall.

Harry smiled. Sirius whistled and even Remus raised his eyebrows.

Lily was wearing a very elegant evening dress – a deep-red one-shoulder gown with an empire waist. Harry couldn't help but notice how well the dress matched Lily's lush red mane. She was _dressed_ _up_ – something Harry had never actually seen before, and he was mystified as to _why_.

Then, Sirius puffed out his chest and made his way to Lily, holding his nose in the air.

"Pleased to meet you, _madamoiselle_ ," Sirius said in a faux-debonair voice. Lily looked less than amused. Sirius continued, "I'm Sirius Black – pureblood misfit and agent of the Ministry of Magic."

"Sirius…" Lily said, exasperated.

"I'm actually here to see Lily Potter, but I'm afraid I can't find her anywhere," Sirius continued obliviously, "She looks a _little_ bit like you, but more… frumpy, and earthy, and ug…"

"One more word," Lily said dangerously, "And I'm definitely looking up a castration spell."

Remus laughed as Sirius backed away in a hurry.

"Hot date?" the werewolf asked. Sirius raised an eyebrow at Lily.

"Not quite," Lily said, resolutely looking away from Sirius, "Just thought I'd dress up a little for dinner. Especially since Harry's making it himself… and all that."

Sirius scratched his head. "I don't get it," he said, "I mean, my old lady did put on a dress occasionally, but I'd hardly say that improved the ambience of a typical Black Family Dinner."

"Maybe that's because this _isn't_ a Black Family Dinner," Lily countered, "I just wanted to dress up for dinner. What's wrong with that? This is _my_ house, after all."

Sirius shrugged again. He looked at Remus and said, "Well, just thought we'd drop by before I took this old wolf out for his first date in _ten years_."

"Really?" Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from Lily and looking at Remus, "You haven't had a date in ten years?"

"Yup," Sirius said as he shook his head, "And I thought _I_ was the one that spent the last decade starving a cell."

The room grew very quiet.

"Well, _that_ killed the mood," Lily muttered.

Sirius laughed. "Hey," he told them, "I'm well over Azkaban, folks. Anyway, now that we're fashionably late, we can finally pop up for our double date and charm the ladies out of their panties and into our… uh… never mind." Sirius looked nervously at Lily.

"Charming as ever," she muttered dryly.

"Bye," Remus said as Sirius hurriedly pulled him away towards the floo, "Enjoy your dinner."

The fire blazed green again as the men stepped through it, and then died down. The oven beeped and opened, indicating that the steak was done.

"Uh," Harry said finally, "I didn't know… I don't really have any formal clothes…"

Lily smiled at him. "It's okay, Harry," she said, "I suppose this was an… impulsive decision on my part. But it's been ages since I wore this, and I just thought…"

"No," Harry interrupted, looking at Lily again, "You look good."

Lily beamed.

"Great!" she exclaimed, "So… does that beep mean dinner's ready?"

Harry nodded. "Just give me a minute to top off the steak," he said as he moved to the oven.

* * *

Harry found himself ridiculously confused – the main point of confusion being his inability to stop himself from comparing Narcissa and Lily.

He had no idea _why_ his mind was trying to draw them into an imaginary contest with each other. And yet, here he was desperately trying not to stare at Lily, while still trying to hold a polite and admittedly interesting conversation.

Granted, his conversations with Narcissa were always interesting and usually involved a variety of topics, but during his later classes, he had never had to hide his wandering glances – Narcissa seemed to _invite_ them. _Here_ , on the other hand, while Harry did not quite feel the impulse to let his glance wander (which would have been very disturbing for several reasons, not the least of which was that Lily was his _mother_ ), he did see her eyes wandering over him more than once, as if trying to catalogue his features and figure him out – a highly puzzling action on her part.

And his rebellious brain kept spewing relentless comparisons between his crush and his mother. Where Narcissa was statuesque and graceful, Lily was stocky and athletic. Where Narcissa had a serpentine grace to her movements, Lily exuded power and speed. While their heights were roughly similar, Narcissa appeared to be taller because of her slight build. Lily, on the other hand, was almost Amazon in terms of build – except in terms of height. Where Narcissa's hair was curly and usually coiffured in an elaborate style, Lily's hair was straight and lush, and the redhead seemed to prefer it loose and flowing over her shoulders.

Harry sighed and tried to focus on the meal, but there was a small part of him that wished he was back in a Quidditch tent with Narcissa.

* * *

Lily had to admit that Harry's ability to grasp a new concept, while functional and instinctual, was admirable. He did not seem to have her own knack for memorization and subsequent learning – he seemed to learn instinctually, through practice and conversation.

And she was impressed by his grasp of basic Arithmancy and his ability to hold a basic conversation on the topic of Magical Theory; when pressed, Harry finally admitted that he had "done a bit of learning" over the summer during the camp.

That set Lily on edge. While she believed he was enjoying himself (there was a reason she had chosen to dress up and engage in a bit of mother-son bonding), he still seemed to be preoccupied with thoughts of what had transpired over the summer.

 _Was she really so bad a mother?_

"I'm a little out of date with the latest papers in Arithmancy, I'm afraid," Lily said, brushing her thoughts and insecurities aside for the moment, "I haven't really had a chance to look up much apart from Potions."

Harry nodded. "Well, it's not like I'm an expert," Harry said, "But there's… apparently been some exciting, if a little disquieting, new research in the field."

"Oh?" Lily asked, raising an eyebrow, "Did Hermione tell you about it?"

Truth be told, Lily was gratified by Hermione's closeness to Harry as well – the girl, when she wasn't determined to look as unappealing as possible, was actually quite good-looking. And Lily got along extremely well with the bushy-haired girl – if they were to be a match in the future, Lily was sure she would approve.

"Well," Harry said, his eyes glinting, "Nar… uh… I was just… er… discussing this stuff with… people at the camp."

"People?" Lily asked, "Of a… feminine persuasion?"

Harry looked askance at her. "Erm," he said, "Maybe?"

"Are you _with_ that Chang girl?" Lily asked curiously. She supposed she should demonstrate at least a little more concern about her son's love life.

Harry looked surprised at the sudden question.

"Uh," Harry said, looking around desperately. Then, he sighed and said, "No. I'm not with the Chang girl… uh… I mean, I'm not with Cho."

"Then who are you with?" Lily asked, leaning on the table and putting her fork down.

"No one?" Harry ventured, bewildered by the flow of the conversation.

"So, what's with all the rumours?" Lily pressed.

"That's just… Ron and Sirius being… Ron and Sirius," Harry stammered, "I never actually said I was in _any_ sort of relationship. I just liked… to wander around camp by myself."

"Uh huh," Lily said, getting more suspicious by the minute, "So… you weren't meeting Cho?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head a little _too_ emphatically.

"And you're not in a relationship with some girl?" Lily asked.

"No," Harry repeated, bemused.

"I… see," Lily said slowly, pondering the significance of Harry's reticence.

There was a very awkward pause in the conversation.

"So," Lily prompted and then flinched as she realized she had been a bit too loud, "You were about to tell me about that new, disquieting research."

"Right," Harry said slowly, and then continued, "So, this research began with a few experiments conducted by the Chinese and French equivalents of our Ministry of Magic. In the early seventies, a bunch of arithmancers found that magic – or at least the field that generates what we call magic…"

"Ah, I know of that bit," Lily interrupted, "Magic is widely believed to originate from a… field, a _nexus_ , for lack of a better term, that is believed to be an inherent part of our universe."

"Yes," Harry continued with a nod, "Apparently, the arithmancers found that this source of all magic is actually _decreasing_ in strength."

Lily started. "Whoa," she said, "That's a bit morbid. Any idea how they found that out?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said, scratching his head, "Nar… I was told that it had something to do with space."

"Space?" Lily asked, her mind working overtime to find out why Harry had corrected himself mid-sentence. Exactly _who_ had been telling him this stuff?

"Yeah, space," Harry said, "In the seventies, some French Ministry wizards snuck a monitoring device – like a sneakoscope, only it detects the potential for powerful magic in the vicinity – on board a spaceship that the muggles had sent to Mars. The device sent back signals at regular intervals, but at some point between Earth and Mars, it gave out. Only, the arithmancers had made the device to last – so it shouldn't have switched itself off at all."

"I remember that experiment," Lily said, "It implied that the device had given out because there was no magic in the vicinity. Which means that at some point between Earth and Mars, magic _itself_ ceases to exist. It had startling implications for all of us – it implied that magic was limited to Earth, and that the source of all magic might be centred on Earth."

"It also meant that wizards and witches couldn't actually travel beyond a certain distance away from Earth," Harry agreed, "Unless they wanted to lose their very magic."

Lily nodded and motioned for Harry to continue.

"Well," Harry said, "A bunch of Chinese arithmancers, sponsored by their Ministry, decided to confirm that finding. So they sent far more sophisticated instruments…"

"On another muggle craft?" Lily asked.

"No, no, they made a spacecraft themselves – it was little more than a sophisticated broomstick according to what… I heard," Harry replied, "But this time, the spacecraft itself failed before it reached half of the distance the previous instrument had covered. Which means that the _reach_ of magic – the nexus - is getting weaker and smaller."

"Or," Lily countered, "It could mean that the nexus changes naturally with time, flitting back and forth in strength over a cyclical period."

Harry nodded. "I did mention that to… the person that told me all this… well, I actually didn't think of that _particular_ alternative. But I did argue that maybe the nexus was affected by planetary movements, or something," Harry said quickly, making Lily even more curious to find out just _who_ he had been talking to, "But they've confirmed it through various other studies. Several other countries have since sent out crafts of a similar sort – and the results have been similar over a period of years. Each time, the instruments they send out fail earlier and earlier, which means that the radius of influence of all magic is decreasing rapidly.

"Of course," Harry finished, "It could mean that radius of magic is merely limiting itself to Earth's radius and that it'll become steady at some point. But according to most arithmancers, the rate at which the nexus is decreasing in size at the moment – which has held constant over the last two decades - means that magic might vanish entirely within our lifetimes."

There was a pause. "I see," Lily said, her eyes wide at the implications of what Harry had just said, "Magic could _die_ in the next few decades. That's… well, that's more than disquieting."

"Of course," Harry said, "The pureblood wing probably thinks it's because of all the muggleborns and half-bloods – magic's growing weaker and all that."

Lily laughed. "Do you believe that?" she asked.

"I should hope not," Harry said, "I've barely discovered this wonderful world. I'd hate to see it go away so soon."

The remainder of their dinner passed in relative silence.

"Harry," Lily said at last, "That was a brilliant dinner. I haven't eaten food that good since I left the Evans household."

Harry blushed. "Eh," he muttered, "Thanks."

"We'll have to work on your self-esteem," Lily said mildly.

Harry flushed an even deeper red. "Right," he said, "I bought some ice cream at the store… y'know… for dessert."

Lily smiled happily. She was feeling more buoyant now that they'd done this – and she felt less awkward around her own son now, which she supposed was a good thing.

* * *

Harry smiled as he watched his mother gorge upon the ice cream – apparently, it had been quite a while since the muggleborn had last had ice cream. He supposed that his earlier fantasies of being reunited with his dead mother were creations of a very naïve young mind – both Lily and he appeared to be going through a period of acclimatisation; they were very different individuals, and as such, they needed to get to truly know each other before they settled into a comfortable rhythm as parent and child.

"Care to dance?" Lily asked with a glance at him, interrupting his thoughts.

"I… uh…," Harry said as he put his spoon down, "I'm not really one to dance." He was beginning to realise that his mother was far more impulsive than he had given her credit for. A trait that Hermione would probably tell him he inherited.

"That just won't do, will it?" Lily asked as she held out her hand expectantly.

Harry eventually took her hand, noticing how powerful her grip was despite how his hand dwarfed hers, and gulped as he found himself led beyond their dining table. They started twirling in place, very slowly, as the song floated out through the speakers.

"Is that in French?" Harry asked curiously, desperately trying not to step on his mother's toes.

" _Le rustre_ ," Lily sighed, "It's an old _old_ song – and this is my favourite version of the song. It was very popular back when I was Head Girl."

"Oh," Harry asked, trying to keep track of his movements, and then relaxing as he found that his mother had chosen very simple steps for them to follow, "Is the singer still famous now?"

"Hardly," Lily said as she placed her head on his shoulder, "The singer was one of those one-hit wonders. Apolline Delacour. But all the ladies… and some of the men… absolutely _loved_ this version of the song."

"What's it about?" Harry asked as he got into the spirit of the dance. His mother's enthusiasm – and her skill at dancing – was apparently infectious.

"It's part of a very old nursery rhyme – most of which has been lost to time," Lily said with a tinkling laugh. She drew her head off his shoulder and looked into his eyes as they twirled slowly on the spot.

With a start, Harry realized how… _green_ … her eyes were. Granted, people did tell him they had similar eyes, but they _didn't_ , in his opinion – his mother's were a vibrant, powerful shade of green that seemed to have an… aura… of defiance deep within them. His eyes, on the other hand, were expressive… just not as _ferocious_ as Lily's seemed to be.

And then Lily began to sing softly, in time with the strange French words of the ballad drifting over from the radio speakers,

" _Baseborn, forged in flame,_

 _Bloodied, on shores of yonder sea,_

 _Careworn, amid leafy glades,_

 _Entombed, he shall know peace._

 _Fire, ocean, earth and bone,_

 _'_ _Ere magic rests to atone."_

"Beautiful," Harry whispered, once the song had finished. And he meant it; his mother had a very powerful singing voice – a voice that was surprisingly deep, yet tinged with feminine charm.

Lily laughed – a rich, husky burst of amusement - and drew away, slipping out of his grasp. With a start, Harry realized that the song had ended.

"Thanks for the dinner… _son_ ," Lily whispered, as if testing out the word for the first time. And Harry realised that it was probably the first time she _had_ used that word to address him.

Then she walked out of the hall, red dress rustling softly on the tiled floor and the scent of the mysterious wildflower still lingering in the air like a wonderful memory that had grown dull around the edges with time.

A minute later, a smiling Harry Potter realized the name of the elusive wildflower. "Lily," he murmured as he walked over to the sink and tapped the rune that made the dishes wash themselves.


	7. Misinformation

_A/N: A few of you asked about the pairing. To be honest, I'm not sure when it comes to this story - I have the plot all planned out, and the progression of interpersonal relationships, but I don't have the actual pairing / romance actually mapped out yet. Either way, there definitely won't be a Harry/Lily. Presently, I'm swinging towards Harry/Fleur, but depending on the backlash, I might desist._

 _Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Let me know if you hate it though!_

* * *

Harry leaned back against the plush seat, basking in the familiar rumble of the train barrelling ahead underneath him.

While he had ridden the Hogwarts Express several times before, it felt like an entirely new experience this time around. For the other students, riding the Express meant going back to school, leaving their homes behind. For him though, the preceding trips on the train had always been a ride _towards_ home. However, this time, it felt… different. Like he was leaving one home for another. It didn't quite feel like he was leaving home – but he supposed that was because everything that mattered to him in Godric's Hollow was coming with him.

Hedwig, for instance. Both his Firebolt – an extremely lavish present from his godfather – and his trusty Nimbus – the broom he had won the House Cup with last year.

And his _mother_.

* * *

 _"_ _I'm not sure I quite get it, Lily," Hermione said, "Uh… I mean… Mrs. Potter… uh… Professor Potter."_

 _Harry stifled a laugh as he tried to crush the ginger roots he had laid out on his table with a spoon._

 _Lily smiled at the bushy-haired girl. "Lily will do just fine, Hermione," she said, "I've told you that a gazillion times. As for the Draught, I suppose I should've made that more clear, shouldn't I? It basically counters the effects of the seeds we put in earlier."_

 _"_ _Oh," Hermione said, as she jotted down a couple of notes on her book, "Thanks, Lily."_

 _"_ _So," Lily asked, "Shall I continue?"_

 _Hermione nodded with her eyes still on the book. Lily looked at Harry and winked. Harry fumbled his grip on the spoon and it clattered onto the floor._

 _"_ _Careful now, Mister Potter," Lily said archly as Hermione looked up at Harry, "That could be construed as disturbance during class – which would eventually mean… detention."_

 _Hermione giggled. Harry stared at his mother for a moment, unsure if she was berating him, only to smile tentatively as Lily winked at him again and chuckled quietly._

* * *

Harry had spent an entire week with his mother at home – a relatively novel experience for him. During the summer after his second year - after his "rescue" from the Dursleys - Lily had barely been around for him to speak to. She had been busy flitting back and forth between various departments of the Ministry, setting her affairs in order and trying to desperately arrange Sirius' trial and convince all the politicians that letting Sirius go would not mean political suicide.

But this summer had been different. Lily had been at home, with him. Granted, they had only closed that weird gap that had existed between them during the past week – but that one week felt like a lifetime to him.

Of course, the summer had been wonderful in more ways than one, and more than just one woman had touched his life in ways that he never would have foreseen a week ago.

 _Narcissa_. Possibly the only woman in the world that his newfound mother evidently loathed.

' _I am so screwed_ ,' Harry thought to himself morosely.

Harry had no idea what to feel about the entire situation – he was infatuated with Narcissa, but beyond the flirtatious winks and the glaring innuendo that she seemed capable of emitting with every second breath, there really had not been further… _action_ , on her behalf. Nonetheless, her ability to wield magic was formidable - a small part of Harry felt that he was betraying the entirety of his school by even thinking this… but Narcissa was, by far, the very best teacher he had ever had.

' _The beautiful, fanciable housewife over the stodgy old professors at Hogwarts_ ,' whispered a voice in his head that may as well have been Hermione's, ' _Why did I not see that coming?_ '

Harry felt miffed at himself.

' _She has a husband, Harry_ ,' insisted the pseudo-Hermione in his head, ' _And a son_. _Who's your age. And loathsome_.'

' _Shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP_ ,' he thought back defiantly, screwing his eyes shut, ' _She's just… a… er… a good… friend?_ '

' _No_ ,' the Hermione in his head berated, beating his head lightly against the window of the train, ' _Don't rationalize this. This is wrong – and you know it_.

' _And you're enjoying the situation in any case_ ,' said pseudo-Hermione again, in the sarcastic, high-pitched tone that the real-world Hermione often used when she thought he or Ron were being ridiculous, ' _So might as well enjoy it while it lasts, right, Harry?_ '

' _Yeah_ ,' Harry thought defiantly, _'Just… let things unfold. Until I come to a point where I… er… can act on… stuff._ '

' _Oh for the love of…_ ' groaned pseudo-Hermione, ' _Yeah, because she's absolutely going to wait around for you to grow up, then divorce her filthy rich husband and marry you with your mother's blessings._

 _'_ _Grow up, Harry. Please._ '

Harry flushed guiltily, then looked up and tried to shake himself out of his thoughts, only to see the _real_ Hermione watching him like a hawk.

"Hermione," Harry asked irritably, "Is there something on my face?"

She shrugged, frowning at him, and diverted her stare to Ron, who was talking to Neville Longbottom about the World Cup final.

The door opened to reveal a very flushed-looking Ginny Weasley, who was trying really hard not to look in Harry's direction.

"Hey Ron," she said brightly, "Eloise Midgen's making out with some bloke in our compartment – so… we just wanted to sit somewhere else for a bit."

Ron shuddered. "Yeah," he said, "I wouldn't want to see Eloise Midgen making out either."

"Ron!" Hermione said indignantly as she slapped him across the arm.

"What?" he asked.

Ginny shook her head. "What I meant, _Ron_ , was that we moved away in order to give the couple a bit of _privacy_. As opposed to being disgusted at what they were doing like a juvenile _twit_."

"Oi!" Ron protested, "I don't have anything against snogging! It's just the thought of… y'know… _Eloise Midgen_ that makes me want to retch."

Hermione smacked the gangly redhead again.

"Anyway," Ginny said loudly, not entirely managing to hide her embarrassment, "I also told Luna she could tag along."

"Oh great," Ron muttered.

"Hello," a dreamy voice floated from behind Ginny as a pretty girl with protuberant eyes and dirty blonde hair made her way into the compartment and plopped down beside Harry, much to the disappointment of Ginny Weasley, who had to make do with a seat near the door to the compartment and opposite Neville.

Harry smiled at Luna.

"You're Harry Potter," she said, her voice still weirdly blank and bereft of all emotion.

"I… er… I am, and you're… Luna?" Harry ventured as Ron snorted.

"Luna Lovegood," she said.

Harry tried to keep a straight face and held out a hand. Luna stared at it for a while, before she gave him the magazine she was holding. Ginny's lips tightened as she tried to control her laughter, even as Ron, Neville and Hermione looked on, completely bemused.

"Oh," Harry said blankly as he looked at the magazine. Apparently, it was a wizarding publication called _The Quibbler_.

"And you're Hermione Granger," Luna said, turning to look at Hermione.

Hermione looked completely nonplussed.

"Hello, Ronald," Luna continued, still oblivious – Harry was beginning to suspect that 'oblivious' was Luna's default mode - and turned to face Ron.

"Hey, Loony," Ron said cheerily. Ginny kicked him in the leg. "Uh… Luna," Ron quickly corrected.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron. The redhead shrugged and said, "Loon… er… Luna used to come over to our place all the time when we were kids. Her father lives right on top of that little hill just outside our apple orchard."

"The Rook's Nest," Luna chirped, her voice alarmingly bright all of a sudden.

Harry idly flipped through the magazine in his hands as the compartment settled into conversation and had to laugh when he saw the first article – it was an essay on ' _The Life and Times of Sirius Black, Part XIV – Adventures with a Mermaid in the Caribbean Isles.'_ He wondered if Sirius had anything to do with the article.

"Er, Luna," Harry asked after a pause in the conversation where Luna simply stared at every person occupying the compartment in turn, making the subject of her blank gaze _very_ uncomfortable, "Do you happen to know where I can get a copy of this magazine?"

Hermione stared at him for some reason.

"You can keep that," Luna said serenely, "I have ten more copies of that issue. My father owns _The Quibbler_."

Hermione turned to stare at Luna and ever so slowly edged away from the girl.

"I… see," Harry said. He then glanced at Hermione, who had sidled up to the window and was now directly opposite him, still looking at Luna warily. He then looked at Luna again. "Is this publication intended to be… less than serious?" he asked, wondering if Zonko's stocked copies of _The Quibbler_.

"No," Luna replied mildly, " _The Quibbler_ is a perfectly serious magazine that collates articles from various persons of outstanding reputation. Gilderoy Lockhart wrote in our magazine before he was impregnated by a snottlewurt."

A peal of laughter burst forth from Ginny's mouth before she stifled it with her fist. Hermione seemed to shrink into her seat and Ron palmed his face.

Harry, on the other hand, was trying _really_ hard to ignore the idea of Gilderoy Lockhart as "a person of outstanding reputation," given what had happened in his second year. "Impregnated by a… what?" he asked, bewildered.

"A snottlewurt," Luna repeated with a mystifyingly straight face, "The only animals in the magical world capable of impregnating male wizards."

"I… what?" Harry asked as Ginny continued to snort into her fist.

"Snottlewurts have these long, thick, tubular…" Luna started.

"We do _not_ want to know," Ron cut in sharply before she could finish.

Luna stopped abruptly and turned to stare at Ron, who promptly grumbled and looked away.

Harry didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or slam his head against the window.

An hour later, Harry found himself enjoying Luna's presence in their compartment with increasing intensity, much to Hermione's displeasure. Sure, the Ravenclaw girl seemed to have her quirks – as far as wizarding publications and magical creatures were concerned; but when talking about various other topics, such as Ancient Runes, the girl was surprisingly level-headed and her insights were… unexpected.

At the moment though, Ginny and Luna were talking to each other about hair products (Hermione tried her level best to appear disinterested, but eventually gave in to temptation and joined in) as Ron entertained Neville – who had entered their compartment before Ginny and Luna – with tales of the Quidditch Finals. Harry, unfortunately, found himself a part of the former conversation, seeing as how he was right against the window and surrounded by the girls.

So he drifted off into memories of the summer; memories of Lily - a week of bonding, peppered with plenty of awkward moments and conscious effort on their behalf to talk to one another - and Narcissa – intense, arduous sessions of learning, peppered with easy conversation and a lot of ribbing on her part with a lot of blushing on his. Though his recollection was soon hampered by the sound of the compartment door slamming open yet again.

He looked at the door dully and groaned as he saw an annoyingly familiar face present itself, flanked by two more very unwelcome faces.

"Oh, for the love of all that is good and holy," Hermione muttered.

"What are you three idiots _doing_ here?" Ron asked loudly, "Is the Hogwarts Express Douche Patrol part of the regular Hogwarts Express itinerary?"

"Very clever, Weasel," Malfoy said snootily. He then looked around the compartment. "Potty, mudblood," he said, nodding at Harry and Hermione while ignoring Neville and the third years. Hermione flinched, but straightened up in her seat nonetheless. Harry tensed.

"Speaking of mudbloods," Draco said, as Ron and Neville snarled, while Ginny looked on, horrified at Malfoy's impertinence, "Granger, it's… unfortunate, that you inherited your father's bushy hair."

"What?" Hermione asked, bewildered, and trying to ignore his frequent use of the expletive referring to her muggle parentage.

"Because I saw you with your muggle… _mother_ ," Malfoy spat, "I must admit though, she's quite the looker… for a mere _muggle_."

Ron's ears grew red and Hermione's eyes widened. Harry found himself completely nonplussed by Malfoy's unusual crassness – not that he expected any better of the idiot anyway.

"But then again," Draco continued snidely, "She _is_ a muggle. It's all well and good for a single night, but then I'm told they tend to follow you home. And that could be a problem."

"Malfoy, you little…" Ron snarled.

"Also," Draco interrupted loudly, "She's not my type. Too thin, too… bony. See, I like a bit of flesh – something to hold on to while you _pound_ her. Now _your_ mother, Ronniekins – my my _my_ …. Now _there's_ a woman made for fu…"

Ginny's wand whipped out, but Goyle, who had been standing behind Draco, blocked her arm and her spell went wide, missing Neville by an inch. Ron rushed forward though, and slammed into Draco, who tumbled back onto the door, which gave way and sent the two teens sprawling out of the compartment and onto the floor of the aisle outside. Goyle tried to rush out, but Ginny's wand found its mark this time around and he landed in a heap beside Draco and Ron, clutching at his face and shrieking in alarm. Crabbe made a sudden movement towards Ginny, but froze as Harry poked his wand right into the ogre-like teen's neck.

"Try me," Harry snarled, as Ron and Draco traded punches outside the compartment. Crabbe made a sudden movement and whipped his arm around, but Harry blocked the swipe. He leapt into the air, slamming his unarmed left fist into Crabbe's nose just as gravity pulled him back down and sending the boy reeling outside the compartment. Harry stepped outside, trying to stop the fight before Ron got himself into trouble.

"Enough," said a soft, but powerful, female voice on his right.

Harry's jaw dropped as he turned on the spot and stared. He had heard that voice before – several times in _several_ tones.

Ron and Draco froze for a moment. Draco was the first to recover from the interruption and pushed Ron away and off him.

"Mother," he said, and then paused as the woman he addressed raised a perfect eyebrow in warning, "Er… I mean, _Professor_ Malfoy."

Harry took a step back as Narcissa Malfoy stalked towards the group. She daintily raised her wand in her right hand, pointing it at a prone Goyle, who finally stopped screaming. Then she cast healing spells at both Draco and Crabbe, whose bruises and minor cuts healed up immediately.

"Crabbe," Narcissa said, "You'll go to Madam Pomfrey as soon as we land at Hogwarts – that broken nose needs looking at. I've set the bone back, but I'd like her to take a look at it nonetheless."

Crabbe nodded meekly. Ron, who was sporting a large shiner over his right eye, glared at Narcissa.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Harry blurted out at last.

Narcissa turned slowly towards him, brushing a ringlet of curly blonde hair behind her ear, her eyebrow raised in inimitable fashion.

"I'm sorry… _Professor_ ," Harry said after an awkward pause and Ron swivelled to look at him in surprise for his lack of defiance, even as Draco smirked, "I meant to ask – what… what are you teaching at Hogwarts this year?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," Narcissa said pertly, "I think you'll find me… satisfactory… at the very least, Mister Potter."

Harry flinched as he heard her fleeting emphasis on the requisite innuendo. He wasn't dreaming – Narcissa was standing before him and she would be at Hogwarts – as the instructor for his favourite subject, no less. While his _mother_ taught his _least_ favourite subject.

' _Stop. COMPARING_ ,' he mentally screamed to himself.

"And as a Professor of this… _illustrious_ school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Narcissa continued casually, "I'm afraid I cannot allow such boorish behaviour to go unpunished."

"Professor," Hermione said tentatively, stepping out into the aisle, "Term hasn't really started yet. And we're really sorry for… this."

"Yeah, right," Ron muttered angrily.

"Miss… Granger, I presume?" Narcissa said archly, and continued after Hermione nodded, "You're correct. The school year has not officially commenced yet; as such, I cannot deduct house points. However, I can and _will_ assign detention."

Hermione fidgeted nervously. Ron straightened, as if daring the new Professor to give him detention.

Narcissa, however, rounded on Harry. "Mister Potter, you shall serve detention with me tomorrow. Right after your last class – which would be… Potions."

Harry raised his eyebrows. It was… curious that Narcissa could seemingly recall his fourth year class schedule at will. He merely pursed his lips and nodded.

Narcissa turned to go away, but before she could leave, a very confused Ron asked, "What about me?"

She swivelled around, her long blonde hair whipping across her face. "What about _you_?" she asked coldly, her blue eyes chips of ice.

Ron gulped and said nothing.

Narcissa nodded stiffly and walked out of their car, her heels somehow clicking sharply against the carpeted floor. Draco and his coterie left the car in the other direction, not even bothering to smirk at them. Ron looked thoroughly nonplussed.

"Why would she give _you_ a detention?" he asked.

"I hit Crabbe," Harry replied.

"And what about me and Malfoy?" Ron asked.

"Malfoy and _me_ ," Hermione corrected.

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked, "Or is it Malfoy and _I_?"

"Holy _hell_ ," Ron said suddenly, his eyes widening in alarm, "Malfoy's mom is a Professor at Hogwarts! And I thought _Quirrell_ was bad."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said quickly and crossed her arms as she stared at Harry, "I'm quite curious to know why that… woman would single you out as well."

He shrugged.

"You better watch out, mate," Ron said darkly to him, "The Malfoys are out in force. And they're gunning for you."

Harry merely stepped into the compartment and sat down near the window.

"Harry," Hermione said, entering the compartment and sitting in front of him again, "This cannot be good. You should tell Lily."

Harry stared at Hermione blankly. "Why would I want to tell my mother that I got into a fight before school had even started?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Harry," she said, "I was right here as it happened. _You_ didn't fall for their taunts. You defended yourself from Crabbe. You may have… over-reacted… but surely, Lily could get this overturned…"

"Let it go," Harry told her, "I'm not afraid of our new Professor."

"As much as I hate to admit it… Ron's right, Harry," Hermione tried again, making Ron whip his head towards her and stare in surprise, "Doesn't it seem like a bit too much of a coincidence to you? Malfoy enters our compartment, trying to draw us into a fight and his _mother_ just happens to be standing outside?"

"I still can't believe Draco's mother is a _Professor_ at our school," Ron repeated, burying his face in his hands, "Do you think she's going to be the new Head of Slytherin too? We're screwed. We're never going to win the Cup again!"

"Because that's what _matters_ ," Hermione said to Ron sarcastically, her voice turning high-pitched, "Really, Ron? The Cup? _That's_ what you're worried about? I'm talking about Harry's _safety_."

"I'll be fine," Harry murmured. He looked away from Hermione, only to see Neville, Ginny and Luna following the conversation intently. Or rather, Neville and Ginny were following the conversation intently. Luna was humming an oddly familiar tune to herself.

"Harry," Hermione persisted, but Harry cut her off.

"Look, Hermione," he said, "Even if there is an insidious plot the Malfoys are hatching, I doubt they're going to be carrying it out on the very first day of school."

Ron shook his head. "She's right," he said, jerking his head towards Hermione, looking surprised at himself for saying so, "I think we should try and get this detention overturned. Every single year, we find ourselves right in the middle of Big Trouble… in capital 'B' and 'T' … and our Defence Professors are usually right there when Big Trouble happens to us."

"You're forgetting last year," Harry pointed out, "Nothing really happened. And Lockhart had nothing to do with… the central problem." Harry quickly glanced in Ginny's direction and winced as he saw that the petite redhead had stiffened perceptibly.

Ron looked in Ginny's direction in concern as well. "And you're forgetting that the Malfoys were _why_ that stuff happened," he gritted out.

Harry started. For some reason, he hadn't associated Narcissa with what had happened in second year. Had she been a part of it? He hadn't even asked her about it so far – which wasn't surprising, seeing as how he would rather forget what had happened that year.

"Talk to Lily, Harry," Hermione pleaded, " _Please_."

Harry sighed. "I will," he said firmly, "Now can we _please_ talk about something else? Because if we don't switch topics, I'm going to explode and then go over to Draco's compartment to punch his lights out."

He wasn't lying. All of his doubts, his confusion, his anxiety, and his knowledge of the fact that Narcissa would be at Hogwarts with him… it was all threatening to boil over.

Thankfully, Hermione resigned herself to a huff and continued her conversation about hair products with Luna and Ginny. And Ron and Neville talked to each other in low voices.

Harry stared out of the window at the darkening sky. As the scenery swept by him, he began to feel regret, for the first time, at the thought that his summer was over.

* * *

As soon as Harry entered the Entrance Hall, Lily cornered him and took him up to her office. Harry wryly noted that he was going to miss most of the Sorting, again. Last year, he had missed the entire first day of school in order to attend Sirius' trial with his mother. And the less said about his experience on the first day of his Second Year, the better. The Whomping Willow still waved its arms threateningly whenever he walked by it – apparently, it was extremely hard for a tree to forget the memory of a flying car crashing into it.

Lily showed him into her office, then moved away from him and frowned. He sighed – he knew what she had pulled him up to discuss.

"It's been almost… two decades since I was last at Hogwarts," she said looking out of the window to her office, which offered a sprawling view of the grounds, including Hagrid's Hut and the Forbidden Forest, "And not much has changed. The walls, the staff – except for that persisting problem with the Defence post -, the eager first years… and the grapevine."

Lily turned to look at Harry. "The rumour mill," she continued, "It's still as efficient as ever. Word is, you've managed to secure a detention on the very first day of school. Care to explain, Harry? Or is this a usual occurrence a la the Marauders?"

"The Marauders?" Harry asked blankly.

"Never mind – that's what Sirius, Remus and their gang called themselves," Lily said quickly. Harry couldn't help but notice that Lily didn't mention his father. "I'm more interested in why you managed to land yourself in a detention with that horrid blonde _bitch_."

Harry stared at Lily. He had never heard her used expletives so openly before. Lily herself flushed ever so slightly, but looked at him defiantly. She waggled a finger at him. "Don't you _dare_ tell anyone else I called my… _colleague_ … " Lily said, spitting out the last word with vehemence, "… a bitch. But then again, if it walks like a… erm… never mind."

She gestured to him to explain. Harry took a moment to recover his poise and then asked a question in return. "Did you know that Nar… er… Professor Malfoy would be here? As a teacher?"

Lily looked at him funnily for a second and then brushed her hair in evident agitation. "No," she spat, "I had no idea that… _woman_ … would be here. I only found out this morning when I came here to set things up for the new term – she was right there in the staff room when I walked in."

Lily sighed and then continued, "So I marched right out, and up to the Headmaster. I asked him… well, I sort of _demanded_ , to be honest, to know why she was here."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Apparently," Lily continued, ignoring his raised eyebrow, "Albus was intent on hiring someone else as the new Professor of Defence against the Dark Arts. Alastor Moody – an ex-auror. But before the appointment could be finalized – sometime during the past week – the Board of Governors jointly recommended _another_ candidate. Mrs. Narcissa ' _I'm-such-a-bitch_ ' Malfoy."

Harry had to stifle a snort at Lily's inability to keep from abusing Narcissa with every second breath – he was beginning to realise exactly why most of his professors had referred to Lily as a little spitfire.

"Lucius Malfoy's still obviously pulling the strings with the Board," he ventured.

"Obviously," Lily agreed with a sharp nod, though she looked surprised at his insight, "But why is Narcissa here?"

Harry _may_ have had a rough idea as to why, but he was hardly going to confess to his mother about his summer. They weren't _that_ close yet. Besides, it wasn't like he was doing anything _wrong_.

 _Sure_ , murmured a familiar snide voice and Harry winced internally.

"I mean," Lily ranted, "Apparently, she told Dumbledore that teaching students is a _dream_ _come true_ for her. If she loves kids so much, then why did she not take up the post years ago? Why now? And how the _hell_ did Lucius Malfoy convince the board to appoint someone who isn't even qualified to teach the damn subject? Is she a Professor? _No!_ She's _not_!"

"Lockhart wasn't exactly a Professor either," Harry pointed out.

"True," Lily agreed reluctantly, "And I suppose an accredited Professorship is a rare commodity these days. Alastor Moody – the original candidate Albus thought of – doesn't have an accredited teaching qualification either. But at least Mad-Eye… that's what we all called Alastor back in the day… had _experience_ – he was an auror for decades! Lockhart had… well… from what you told me, his experience was mostly made-up, but at least it was right there on his resume. What the hell does Narcissa Malfoy have at her disposal? Can she even _cast_ a spell properly?"

Harry managed not to snort. "You studied with her back at school," he said, leaning against the door, since Lily hadn't invited him to take a seat at her desk yet. Apparently, he was being reprimanded… or something. "Was she such a bad witch back then?"

Lily glared at him. "No," she admitted finally, with what he could see was great reluctance, "She was one of the best students in our batch at school. And… one of the most… accomplished… duellists at school."

Harry rolled his eyes. _Of course she was._

"But what has she _done_?" Lily asked vehemently, "What has she _accomplished_?"

Harry looked around the room as the rant continued. If he was being honest with himself, his mother's anger was a bit… adorable – her fierce green eyes blazing with passion and lips parted indignantly. That said though, he _was_ witnessing a… bitching session he wanted no part of.

"Er," Harry interrupted, "I doubt there's anything anyone can do now. She's here now. And besides, if, like the rumours say, the Defence position is cursed, she's only going to be around for a year."

Lily smiled wistfully for a moment as she imagined whatever horror would be visited upon Narcissa at the end of the year… if the rumour about the curse was true. "Anyway," she said at last, clearing her throat, "What did you do to receive a detention from _her_ , of all people?"

Harry narrated all that had happened on the Hogwarts Express dutifully.

"So let me get this straight," Lily said, her lips curling into a frown, "Ron attacked Draco, Goyle was hexed by Ginny and Crabbe tried to punch _you_. So you defended yourself. And then you stepped out of the compartment only to discover that Narcissa was right _there_ in the aisle _just outside your compartment_? By coincidence?"

"Apparently," Harry said, "And to be fair, I did do a bit more than just defend myself. I kinda punched Crabbe in the nose."

Lily shook her head. "And Goyle got _hexed_. Ron and Draco were _punching_ each other and Narcissa was right there! And she ignored all of them only to punish _you_?"

"Yup," Harry replied uncomfortably, unused to an adult scrutinising his every action in such a manner.

Lily took a deep breath. "I'm going to go over to Albus and see if I can get this detention re-assigned to someone else. Like Minerva, or perhaps Vector. Or even Sinistra – she's the new Head of Slytherin House, after all."

"The Headmaster might not agree," Harry said, "He'll just say that he thinks the punishment is well-deserved."

"What about the fact that she's _obviously_ singling you out?" Lily replied hotly, "Or the fact that she didn't even try and find out what was happening before handing out _proportionate_ detentions to everyone involved? Like say, Ron? This isn't just a case of favouritism, Harry. This isn't just her sparing Draco from detention while trying to pin the blame on someone else – this is her singling _you_ out for some reason that I cannot even comprehend at the moment!"

"I'm not scared of her," Harry repeated.

"That's _so_ not the point," Lily said firmly. She looked out of the window again for a moment and bent her head in thought as Harry fidgeted on the spot.

"Okay," she said at last, "I suppose going to Albus would be a bit… premature. Anyway, Harry, I want you to be fully alert when you go into Narcissa's office for your detention, _comprendre_?"

Harry nodded.

Lily drew closer to him. "Harry," she said delicately, "I know you can handle yourself – that you're _used_ to handling yourself without anyone to rely on over the past decade. But you don't have to do that anymore. You… have _me_. And I have _you_."

Both Harry and Lily stiffened as she said that, and they looked at each other awkwardly for a minute. For a moment, Harry felt a bit warm inside as he realised that… there was someone that perhaps, maybe, truly… _cared_.

"And I want you to be very, _very_ careful for me, alright? Narcissa is an incredibly dangerous woman, and to make things worse, she's a Malfoy. That family is a veritable nest of vipers – they've always been that way. I might belittle her in public – but I do _not_ make the mistake of underestimating her in private.

"She's a very skilled witch – her skills may have atrophied over the years, but I'm sure her mind is as lethal as ever. I've never known her to follow through with a particular course of action without a specific – a _very_ specific goal - in mind. And I don't believe for a second that Draco entered your compartment to pick a fight of his own volition – his dear old _mommy_ was pulling the strings. So if she's given _you_ – and you alone - a detention, it is for a very specific reason."

Harry nodded slowly as he absorbed Lily's words.

"And," Lily continued, "If Narcissa offers you anything at all – I don't care if she offers you a mound of the most delicious chocolates in existence, or the tastiest butterbeer in the universe – do _not_ eat or drink it. Be very careful – I'll be keeping a close eye on the Defence classroom today myself, and so will Albus and Minerva. We all know Narcissa is here for a reason, and that it cannot be a good reason. But I still want you to be watchful."

Harry nodded, growing increasingly uncomfortable with every passing sentence. "I will," he said solemnly. Lily smiled.

Harry tried to lighten the atmosphere. "The most delicious mound of chocolate in existence, eh?" he asked mildly.

Lily flushed.

" _Someone's_ got a weakness for chocolate," he teased, lapsing into easy conversation. He then winced, wondering if Lily would appreciate the ribbing.

To his surprise, Lily slapped his arm playfully. "Stop that," she snapped, though with mirth, and then continued soberly, "I want you to remember what we just discussed. Be careful, Harry. And now, _off_ with you. They're going to wonder why you aren't in the Great Hall for the Sorting. And come to think of it, my seat's conspicuously empty at the Head Table as well."

* * *

Harry, to his chagrin, found out that he had missed a _very_ important announcement regarding a momentous event taking place at Hogwarts that year – the Triwizard Tournament. Apparently, it was an ancient tournament that had been suspended during the beginning of the First Wizarding War against Voldemort, and had only just been reinstated that year. Moreover, every student over the age of fourteen would be allowed to participate in the tournament; the selection of students would be made by a magical artefact that everyone called the Goblet of Fire, which had since been placed in the middle of the Great Hall, surrounded by an Age Line to ensure that students who hadn't yet reached fourteen could not drop their names into the goblet.

That announcement caused a lot of grief with the younger years – including Ginny and, surprisingly, Luna, who seemed strangely disappointed that she had missed her chance to participate in a tournament that could help her fund a "Snorkack Hunting Expedition." Harry found himself enjoying the strange girl's company more and more – Luna had sat with them at breakfast the morning after they had arrived, much to his amusement and delight.

The disappointment of the third years and below (and some fourth years) notwithstanding, the event had caused a great deal of excitement among the rest of the students. Hermione, when asked if she was going to enter, replied in the affirmative. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to find great pleasure in loudly speculating on the honour that would be conferred on the victor of the tournament, while simultaneously decrying his own chances of being selected. Harry even caught him plucking out the petals of a clover before breakfast in their dorm, hoping that a bunch of leaves could help him choose between "I should enter" and "I should not."

Harry eventually told him that they would go drop their names into the Goblet together right before curfew, and after his detention, which seemed to console Ron, much to Harry's relief. Apparently, it wasn't a matter of the redhead _wanting_ to compete – Ron definitely wanted to be a part of the tournament; it was more a matter of securing approval for his candidacy to the tournament.

His first day was relatively easy-going - Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes, followed by Potions. Lily seemed to be a bit nervous as the class began, but settled into her usual stride, managing to answer all of her class' questions (Hermione being the most prodigious questioner, much to Harry's surprise – he had thought Hermione would've exhausted her tank during their weeklong summer classes) with ease.

Of course, the easy-going nature of the first day subsided to the back of his mind as he walked into the Defence Classroom on the third floor, after reassuring his friends _and_ his mother all over again that he would be very careful as he entered Narcissa's _den_ , as they had called it.

The wrought-iron door creaked open as he walked in, only to be greeted with what appeared to be the same old, albeit empty, classroom. The same wooden seats with surprisingly great, magically induced, padding, the same iron chandelier in the centre and the same projecting apparatus at the end of the large circular room. He took a tentative step into the room, his footstep echoing ominously through the domed space.

And that was when he noticed the streak of red light barrelling towards him.

* * *

Lily huffed to herself as she took the stairs to the Headmaster's Office two steps at a time. She had no idea why the Headmaster had chosen to hold a meeting exactly when she had wanted to keep an eye on the Defence Classroom, but she knew she would be miffed if Albus didn't have a great reason for calling on her.

And that was when Lily was struck by an epiphany – she was concerned for Harry. It wasn't so much a motherly concern for her darling son – rather, she felt concerned for him in a very familiar, very _old_ way. Almost like he was a friend from her Hogwarts days – a friend she hadn't known for too long, but a friend she truly did care for, and didn't want to see hurt.

Of course, there was also the minor fact that she _loathed_ Narcissa, and would rather see the woman die in a fire than close to one of the people Lily cared for.

She reached the end of the stairs, opened the mahogany door to Albus' office and entered the room, taking in all of the familiar, comforting sights – a newly reborn Fawkes perched on his stand, the bookshelves, the portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses, as well as the odd silver instrument bustling and chirping away behind a very radiant Albus Dumbledore, seated at his desk with steepled fingers, and a sober-looking Minerva McGonagall.

"Hello," Lily said, "Sorry, Albus, I had no idea we were having a staff meeting until five minutes ago."

Albus nodded and gestured to a chair in front of his desk. Lily noticed that there were only three chairs – one of which was already occupied by Minerva. She took the chair in the middle, next to Minerva, leaving an empty chair to her right.

"Au contraire, I believe I owe you an apology, Lily," Albus said lightly, "This is not a staff meeting. I merely believed it prudent to hold an impromptu meeting in light of a… specific piece of information I have obtained from the Ministry."

Lily looked questioningly at the Headmaster, who merely smiled serenely at her.

"I was hoping a few more members – or perhaps it would be wise to call them ex-members – would turn up," Albus said, "Unfortunately, it seems the past decade and three years of peace have led to an… ease of comfort that several of us would rather not let go of."

"Alastor?" Minerva asked curiously.

"He is still at St. Mungo's," Albus replied, "And is, understandably, quite reluctant to accept an invitation to venture outside in light of his recent injuries. However, I am expecting one more member."

Lily was beginning to put the pieces together. "Member?" she asked. And then she gasped. "The Order? You're calling on the _Order_ again?" Lily glanced at Minerva.

"Not quite," Albus said in a reassuring tone, "However, I thought it best to touch base with as many members as I could get a hold of. Perhaps this is uncalled-for paranoia on the part of an old man who has seen far too much in his life, but – and I do not mean to be immodest here – my instinct has seldom led me astray so far, despite its admitted deterioration with age."

"Don't be ridiculous, Albus," Minerva huffed.

The door opened behind Lily to admit a dishevelled-looking Sirius Black. Lily stared at his tousled hair and ruffled clothes.

"Okay," Sirius said, plopping down beside her, "For once, it's _not_ what you think. This isn't a product of my life of debauchery – I had to collar this pickpocket who thought that the secret to great thieving is a pocket with a bottomless charm."

Lily snorted. "You put your hand into his pocket, didn't you?" she asked.

Sirius sighed. "Trust me," he said, shaking his head, "Going knuckle-deep into a bloke's pants isn't as great as it… er…"

Sirius finally seemed to realize that he was at a meeting with his former Transfiguration teacher and Headmaster, much to Lily's amusement.

"Okay," Sirius breathed, "Maybe we can continue this discussion later, hmm?"

"Oh no," Minerva said sarcastically, "I'm _very_ keen to find out just how productive your life in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is."

"Dawlish still reluctant to take you in?" Lily asked.

"Yeah," Sirius said, "It's not so much my physical fitness as my mental readiness – they're still waiting for my Healer reports to clear before they admit me back into the Auror forces. Until then, it's DMLE duty for me.

"So," Sirius asked looking around, "This looks awfully familiar. What's the news?"

Albus crossed his fingers together on the desk and looked intently at the trio before him.

"I received a memo an hour ago from the Wizengamot," he declared, "Bellatrix Lestrange was found dead a week ago at Azkaban, though the Ministry is trying to keep it very, very quiet at the moment."

Lily gasped while Minerva and Sirius stared flatly at Albus.

"Sounds like grounds for a celebration," Sirius said dully, "Why is the Ministry trying to keep it quiet?"

Albus looked at Sirius for a moment.

"I do not know if you have tracked how well your release from Azkaban was received, Sirius," the Headmaster said delicately, "But your incarceration, trial and subsequent release were not without consequence. A significant portion of the wizarding public now believes that Azkaban does not fulfil its primary purpose as a correctional facility."

"They got that right," Sirius muttered.

"Indeed," Albus said, "And a _very_ significant portion of the Ministry – led by Amelia Bones – believes that Azkaban should be destroyed and a state-of-the-art correctional facility, with focus on prisoner rehabilitation, should be built in its place. And this movement to dismantle Azkaban coincides with extremely low approval ratings for Minister Fudge."

"So Bellatrix Lestrange dying at Azkaban…" Minerva ventured.

"… Would be cause for serious concern and grounds for a debate in the Wizengamot about the state of Azkaban," Albus finished with a nod. "Nonetheless," he continued, "It is only a matter of time before this news leaks out. Unfortunately, the Ministry knows this as well we do and have taken great pains to ensure that the body was disposed of before the authorities in charge of the prison could be scrutinized too thoroughly."

"I still don't see the relevance," Sirius said harshly, "Cousin Bella is _dead_. Whoop-de-whoop, I still think it's grounds for a celebration."

"While I do not condone mindless approval of loss of life – no matter how malevolent that life has been," Albus reproached, only for Sirius to roll his eyes; Albus relented and continued, "I suppose the death of Bellatrix Lestrange would be cause for relief for quite a few people. But there is a… snag – the death of Bellatrix Lestrange happens to coincide with a host of disappearances, heightened trading in dark artefacts in Central Europe, attacks and… murders."

"Really?" Lily asked breathlessly. The First War on Voldemort may have felt like it was a fourteen years ago to the rest of the world, but for her, barely over a year had passed since she had last seen the Dark Lord.

"I re-iterate," Albus said in a placating tone, "I might be acting a tad presumptuous here, but I shall highlight _two_ occurrences in particular for your benefit. The first of those curious occurrences has to do with an event we just discussed before Sirius was here – the attack on Alastor Moody."

"I heard about that," Sirius said immediately. He turned to Lily and Minerva. "Alastor Moody was attacked in his home by two perps – one male and the other female. Word in the department is that Mad-Eye was just taken by one of his paranoid fits – he raised a ruckus in his neighbourhood… his very _muggle_ neighbourhood, no less. I heard Arthur Weasley was called onto the scene, along with a couple of Obliviators, to set things straight."

"Yes," Albus said, "But what the intra-department memos failed to mention is that Alastor Moody actually recognized one of the suspects – Bellatrix Lestrange, a month _after_ her body was buried at Azkaban."

The room went very, _very_ quiet.

"Are you sure we can trust Alastor, Albus?" Minerva asked in a tight voice, "I _do_ respect the man, but over the years, he's grown… unreasonably paranoid."

"I trust Alastor enough," Albus said firmly, "Enough, at the very least, to know that the man can distinguish between an hallucination caused by sheer paranoia and the genuine sighting of a _dead_ ex-criminal."

"Maybe it was Polyjuice," Sirius said, "Or… an Inferius. Or maybe Andromeda was just trying to surprise him and went overboard with the hair-dye."

"Perhaps," Albus said with a faint smile, "But I find all of those scenarios troubling all the same. Well… perhaps not that last one."

The room reflected on the incident for a moment. Eventually, Minerva pushed the conversation forward.

"Albus," the Head of Gryffindor House asked, "You mentioned _two_ events."

"Of course," the Headmaster said graciously, "The second event that I find so troubling is the mysterious death of a muggle gardener – Frank Bryce – in the sleepy little village of Little Hangleton. According to various news reports, as well as a _very_ well-classified report from the Department of Mysteries, Mr. Bryce was found dead under mysterious circumstances – there were no wounds on his body, no evidence of sudden organ failure, no creeping illness that made itself known at the last moment. The only thing of note was the frozen look of horror on his face."

"The Killing Curse?" Lily asked sharply.

"Indeed," Albus said, "But the most troubling fact of all is this: Mr. Bryce was the last known caretaker of Riddle Manor – the erstwhile residence of the very well-to-do Riddle Family."

"I've never heard of them," Sirius said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "Were they purebloods?"

Albus shook his head. "Not purebloods, Sirius," he said, "They were muggles. Tom Riddle Senior, his wife and children were found dead under similar circumstances over fifty years ago. I have reason to believe that the perpetrator of _that_ crime – fifty years ago – was none other than Tom Riddle Senior's abandoned son – Tom Marvolo Riddle, a former student of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Lily listened to Albus with growing horror; the name of the murderer was the last straw – she gasped. Minerva stiffened to her left.

Sirius looked at them, puzzled, and then turned back to Albus. "I don't see the significance," he said.

"Ah, yes," Albus said, "Sirius, were you made aware of the untoward incidents that occurred during Harry's second year at Hogwarts?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Well, they make for a very exciting adventure," Albus said, "The pertinent point, however, is that Lily and Minerva recognize the name specifically because of the events that occurred during Harry's second year at this school. Tom Marvolo Riddle is an anagram, Sirius – unwind the letters, unspool them, put them back together and they form a very chilling sentence: ' _I am Lord Voldemort_.' "

Sirius gasped. "Voldemort was a _student_?" he asked faintly, " _Here_?"

"Indeed," Albus said soberly, "And I have reason to believe that the murder of the Riddle family at their manor was the first of many perpetrated by a very young Lord Voldemort."

"But why would Voldemort kill his own father?" Lily asked, "Because he was a muggle?"

"Because his muggle father abandoned him," Albus replied, "Tom Riddle, Senior, abandoned his wife – Merope Gaunt, who was the last of a _very_ long line of purebloods – to wed another muggle. Perhaps the murder of his father's new family was an act of vengeance. Perhaps it was to bury his muggle heritage. We may never know, Lily."

Sirius suddenly barked out a laugh, startling the others in the room. "Sorry," he said quickly, "I just realized that Voldemort is a _half-blood_. Oh, my mother must be rolling in her grave."

"So," Lily said, ignoring Sirius, "You're saying this… Frank Bryce was murdered at the _very_ same manor where Lord Voldemort made his first kill? And that it was the work of a wizard?"

"Perhaps, _more_ than a wizard," Albus intoned, "Nonetheless, when questioned, quite a few people living in the village reported that they had sighted a dark-haired woman matching the description of Bellatrix Lestrange in the vicinity of the manor during the week leading up to the murder."

"Crap," Sirius said, after a moment's pause, "Okay, one sighting may be a coincidence. _Two_ , on the other hand… might just warrant an investigation."

"Of course," Albus said, "Perhaps this _is_ the work of a random dark wizard, or perhaps we're making a mountain of a molehill, or perhaps the woman the villagers described is merely a brunette woman touring the countryside. However, I believe we should all be aware of the possibility that the worst may come to happen, despite our hopes for the best."

"Coupled with the events that happened three years ago…" Minerva suggested.

"That is, of course, a prime concern," Albus said.

"I heard about _that_ ," Sirius said, "Harry reported seeing a shade of Lord Voldemort?"

Albus nodded sharply. Lily reeled in her chair, trying to sort through the deluge of information she had just received.

"Is… " Lily asked, then took a deep breath to compose herself, "Is he going to come after us again? _If_... he's back?"

Albus stared into space for a moment, then looked at Lily with very sober eyes with nary a twinkle in them.

"It is… a possibility," the venerable Headmaster confessed.

* * *

Harry rolled on the floor, arms pumping out as he uncurled so that his body rippled upwards to keep him on his feet. He whipped his wand out, deflecting the powerful crimson jet of light – a paralyzing curse of some sort – that Narcissa unleashed at him. Simultaneously, he took a step forward and unleashed a burst of magic from his own wand.

A stream of fire burst out at Narcissa, who extinguished it with a smile and a jet of water from her own wand.

"Trying to get me all hot and sweaty, Harry?" she taunted as she flicked her wand to bat aside his Stunning spell. Then, she clenched her left fist, pointed her wand at it and murmured something. Harry took the lull in her spell-casting to fire a couple more hexes, but they splashed harmlessly upon her, much to his dismay – the air around her seemed to be sizzling with magic.

Then, a halo of multi-coloured light burst forth from her fist, _each_ splash of light becoming a different spell, to Harry's horror. He swung his wand across the breadth of his body, conjuring several pieces of wood and simultaneously hurtling those outwards in desperation. Some of the spells Narcissa had summoned were blocked by the pieces of wood, others managed to avoid his burst and wound their way towards him, even as he leapt out of the way.

The world turned black for an instant as Harry crashed onto the floor. When he came to, however, he discovered that he had been disarmed and trussed up. _Again_.

"I'm impressed, Harry," Narcissa breathed, "That was amazing instinct with the conjuration at the end. But then again, _popping_ wood isn't quite the same as _using_ it."

Harry grit his teeth in desperation as he tried to break out of his bonds with wandless magic, but his control still seemed to be far too rudimentary.

"This again, love?" Narcissa whispered softly as she closed in on him like a predator circling in for the kill, her every step a picture of almost serpentine grace, "I've told you before – even the most powerful wizards would find it difficult to break out of magically conjured bonds without a wand."

"Doesn't stop me from trying," Harry grit out.

Narcissa sighed and waved her wand. The ropes pulled, unwound and withdrew, leaving a very miffed Harry rubbing his knuckles as he leaned against the cool stone wall.

"I need… I _want_ to ask you something," he said hesitantly.

"Ask away love," Narcissa said, backing away.

"Did… did you know about the Diary? In my second year?" he asked.

Narcissa froze for a moment and looked at him blankly for an instance, before she took a deep breath and held out her wand. "There are several ways of swearing an oath in the wizarding world, Harry," Narcissa said solemnly, "This is only one of those. An Unbreakable Vow, of course, is the most secure and binding, but it would need three people to bind it; however, the spell I call upon now is no less powerful.

"I, Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, swear upon my _life_ , that I had no categorical knowledge of the scheme that my… _husband_ … perpetrated at Hogwarts." A burst of blue light issued from her wand, blinding Harry for an instant.

He stared at her after the light cleared, for Narcissa suddenly looked frail and vulnerable as she pondered the spell she had just cast. "I… I didn't know, Harry," she said, her voice filled with an emotion not far removed from regret, "If I knew that… that _monster_ had unleashed a basilisk upon a school full of… I would…"

And then she sighed. "I don't know what I would have done, for I was once a quiet, demure housewife," she said, her voice still frail and Harry could not help but feel moved, "But… I didn't know, Harry. Do you… do you believe me?" She looked at him, blue eyes wide and searching for approval.

"Why are you here?" he asked suddenly, his voice small and still not quite looking at her. He flexed his fingers idly, and after a moment of silence, tried again, "Why are you really here?" He looked up at last, only to see Narcissa raising a brow and facing him with her arms crossed defensively, and he marvelled at the ease with which she could switch personas at will.

"During the course of the summer," she said, her voice turning playful, "I believe I discovered a certain… zest for teaching, all because of one handsome, powerful, messy-haired fourteen-year-old."

Harry blushed. "Er…" he stuttered, "That's… that can't be the _only_ reason."

Narcissa frowned. She turned away from him and looked at the far wall of the classroom. "Fair enough," she said at last, "I respect you enough to be honest with you; I came here specifically because I… discovered _you_ over the summer. You _are_ a powerful motivating factor for my presence here."

Harry crossed his own arms and shook his head. "What?" he asked, "I don't… get it."

Narcissa looked at him closely, and once again, Harry was struck by how beautiful she was – a blonde fringe falling gracefully over her forehead, blue eyes glimmering with power, her face tilted upwards in inimitable fashion, giving her an almost… _regal_ look. For not the first time, Harry truly understood what it meant to be a part of wizarding aristocracy – not the empty bluster of Draco, nor the smarmy stink of money that Lucius Malfoy paraded all over the place. It was a combination of several things – power, coupled with decisiveness, mated with elegance and adorned with _beauty_. Narcissa was a pureblood dream given flesh, a powerful enchantress, a beautiful sorceress and he had never seen anyone quite like her before.

"I am… concerned for the fate of the wizarding world," she said carefully, "Or at least the part that belongs to Great Britain. And this school, for better or worse, is at the centre of it all – _has_ been at the… nexus of all things great and powerful. You… woke up a part of me that I thought I had lost for ever – _ambition_. It is time I involved myself in the affairs of the magical world once more – no longer shall I be a pawn of old, bitter men that would rather cling to failed ideologies than drag our world out of the rut that it has been steeped in for so long."

Her voice grew more passionate as she went on and her eyes sparkled with a cold passion that roused a strange fire within him. And then, at the crescendo, she paused and looked over at him, her eyes smouldering with… something.

"And in between it all," she said, _stalking_ towards him, every step tinged with grace and authority, and Harry gulped, " _You_ happened. A little firestarter of a wizard, a boy who could become someone… great. Great, and terrible – if he so wished."

Harry's eyes widened as he remembered eerily similar words from Ollivander, and then all thought fled him as he noticed that Narcissa had pressed her _very_ feminine body, to Harry's consternation, against his, spreading her arms out and capturing his fingers in hers. Harry could feel the shape of her breasts – soft perky handfuls – against his chest, the feeling of her erect nipples pressing against him evident even through her robes. He grip was possessive, determined, _dominating_.

Harry _tried_ to ignore the familiar lilac scent, the sight of succulent, shapely lips, and the memories of their red-hot duels during the lush summer months.

"And that's when I decided that I had to be here," she whispered, her voice seemingly igniting a fire within his veins, "I had to be here. Near you. To help. To guide." She drew ever closer, her lips almost touching the lobe of his ear and his very breath seemed to fail him.

"To _empower_ ," she whispered, her breath sending pleasant little shudders over his skin, "I will see you become great, love. And I will see our world become bright and wholesome again."

She withdrew, and Harry let out a disappointed sigh as her fingers slipped away from his own. He shook his head, desperately trying to clear his mind of the sheer desire that has flooded it at the moment.

"I… see," Harry said at last. Then he sighed and continued, replying to her earlier question. "I believe you," he declared, "I believe you about the… Diary."

His heart lifted as he noticed her smile at him once more.

* * *

Harry had barely made it out of the Defence classroom before he was pounced upon by a flash of white feathers and sharp talons.

"Hedwig?" Harry asked. The bird alit upon his shoulder and held out a leg. Harry dutifully unwound the attached parchment.

 _Harry,_

 _Come to my office as soon as you're done with your detention._

 _\- L_

Harry sighed, patted Hedwig affectionately and allowed her to take off. He wondered if Lily had gone all the way to the Owlery to send him a message, or if Hedwig had approached Lily with that uncanny ability to anticipate when someone wanted to send him a message.

Harry slowly made his way to his mother's office. Narcissa had done her best with the healing charms she knew, but his wrists and ankles still smarted from her ropes.

 _One of these days_ , he thought, _I'm totally going to beat her_.

But Harry knew he enjoyed her presence; it had been just over a week since he had last seen Narcissa, but he truly had missed her – her teasing remarks, her amazing grasp of magic, her ability to teach concepts to him effortlessly, her _unique_ teaching methods…

Harry stopped his flow of thoughts before he started sounding like a love-struck sop.

Harry rapped on Lily's door with his knuckles before he entered her office, smiling as she greeted him with a friendly wave, which petered out when she truly looked at him.

"You look like _hell_ ," Lily said abruptly, rising from her seat and drawing up to him.

Harry noticed with a start that he was actually slightly taller than his mother – he had noticed that before, but it was a bit of a contrast from Narcissa, who, in turn, was slightly taller than he was.

And then he cursed as he registered his mother's words – he was suddenly aware of how his hair was messier than ever and how his robes looked completely rumpled. He decided to let the truth out.

"She… duelled me," he said.

Lily's eyes grew wide. "She… _what_?" Lily screeched in alarm.

"She duelled me," he said quickly as he noticed how Lily looked ready to storm into Narcissa's quarters and curse her into oblivion, "But it was completely non-lethal. I just got a bit roughed up."

"A bit roughed up?" Lily asked, her voice still high-pitched, "Harry, are you _insane_? What business does she have _duelling_ with you?"

"She _is_ teaching Defence against the Dark Arts," Harry reminded her, and then added, "And I did learn a bit from the duel."

Lily closed her eyes, pursed her lips and took a deep, calming breath. Eventually, she muttered, "I shall be having… a _word_ … with that… _woman_.

"Now, _sit_ ," Lily said, indicating a very plush sofa that had not been at the office when Harry had visited it earlier.

Harry sank down on the chair and groaned softly as he noticed just how comfortable the seat was.

"Did the bitch hurt you?" Lily asked fiercely, and Harry was once against struck by Lily's bluntness – so different from the cold indifference of Narcissa.

"Not really," Harry said, "I did lose the duel though."

Lily huffed, crossed her arms and glared at him as Harry fidgeted uncertainly in his seat.

"We can't have that, can we?" she said, her voice biting. She glared at him for a moment, making Harry wonder what he had done wrong and then asked, "Did you… enjoy the duel with her?"

Harry winced. He stared up at her and stammered, "I… er… I don't…"

"Did. You. Enjoy. Duelling. With. That. _Bitch_ ," Lily intoned, her teeth grit. Harry was taken aback by her vehemence.

"Maybe?" he said uncertainly, "I did learn a lot…"

Lily cut him off. "Fine," she said at last. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she continued, "I've found that I'm lagging a bit behind in the duelling arts, Harry."

Her voice was suddenly casual – _too_ casual, "So, I thought we could train together. And obviously, we're both free on the weekends."

* * *

Harry pondered the recent actions of the two women who had suddenly entered his life, and his brain struggled to keep up with the flood of questions that followed.

Why did Lily want to train with _him_? Had something happened? Why had Lily been so stressed out in the first place? Was she… _jealous_ … of how he admitted to a certain amount of… pleasure… he had drawn from the duel with Narcissa?

And then there was Narcissa – the woman was a mystery wrapped inside an enigma. He still did not quite get _why_ she was here or _why_ she was drawn to him. She had said something about the wizarding world, and how she was concerned by where it was heading – but he wasn't convinced. She _was_ a Slytherin, after all; and he sensed that Lily was right in at least one respect about Narcissa – the woman never did anything without some sort of purpose or calculated motive driving her.

And Lily, too, had seemed stressed out by something else – there was something more than just jealousy that drove her to practice duelling with him.

Harry rounded the corner of the corridor that led to the Fat Lady's portrait, wondering if his life had just taken a new turn for the worse somewhere along the way.

 _I guess my very peaceful third year was an anomaly after all_ , he thought, _Looks like this year is going to be the most eventful of them all. And I'm not sure that's a good thing at all._

 _Apart from… well, Narcissa. And how hot she looks… like, all the time._

Harry snickered to himself.

"What're you laughing about?" asked a curious male voice as he drew close to the portrait.

Harry winced. Narcissa would have his hide for not maintaining his 'field awareness' at all times. He looked up at Ron, who had apparently been waiting for him outside the portrait.

"Whoops," Harry said awkwardly, "I forgot all about dropping our names into the Cup."

Ron shrugged. "It's alright," he said with a grin, "We have five minutes to go for curfew. Reckon we can make it to the Great Hall and back?"

Harry grinned right back and nodded. For a fleeting moment, as he and Ron took off along the maze of corridors and staircases that led down to the Great Hall, he felt… _normal_. And his worries, his thoughts… they all faded away as he effortlessly overtook Ron in their race to reach the Goblet of Fire.


	8. Champion

_A/N: ABANDONED. Much as it pains me to admit it, I'm nowhere near as good a writer as I want to be, and the reviews are pretty clear on that front - I never will be that good. Maybe it's the fact that nearly every second review is decidedly negative, or the realisation that the people who clamour for Dragon Lily in the reviews were never quite as stellar in their defence of it on HPFF when it received flame after flame, or the idea that this fic was going down the exact same path (plot-wise) as Dragon Lily (and I shudder to think of the flames I'd have received after the First Task). Either way, I'm done with fanfiction as a whole - writing it anyway. Always was a better reader than a writer, lol._

 _And just so that I don't keep you guys waiting, Dragon Lily is not going to be published from my side ever again - feel free to adapt it though; I'm sure if any of you decide to do so, you'd do a better job of it than I ever could. Second, I don't care for smut any more. I'm not in the right headspace to write it, and don't think I'll be for a long time to come. Bug, Meet Foot is abandoned as well._

 _Either way, I sincerely thank each and every one of you that reviewed - it's been a great journey for me, if a disappointing one. But it's a learning experience. Good luck, and keep reading, guys! Hope you all find something you like on the interwebs!_

* * *

Harry took a deep, calming breath, like he did before every duel where he had an opportunity to relax before the fighting commenced. Lily Potter stood opposite him, albeit at some distance, in a large classroom that, according to Lily, had once been a chamber used for a discontinued duelling class. The broken benches and surprisingly sturdy wooden table that had once stood undisturbed in the unused room had now been arrayed against the walls so as to clear a large space near the middle of the room.

"You've done this before, I hope," Lily said mildly.

"I'd hope so too," Harry said, grinning, as he turned his body sideways to face her, so as to present as less of a profile as possible for the opening spell.

"Good," Lily murmured. She then waved her wand in an intricate motion, away from Harry, and large golden letters appeared on the wall to his right. The letters, at present, read "3."

"The countdown," Lily said graciously.

"Show-off," Harry retorted cheekily. Lily merely grinned back.

The timer began to count down. Harry tensed up with his wand at the ready – he usually waited for the other person to cast first, seeing as how he was still a novice at this sort of thing. Lily's stance was entirely unconventional compared to Narcissa; she seemed to be crouched, like a sprinter, her wand already shimmering with uncast magic.

And then, as the timer went changed from "1" to "GO!", Lily _exploded_ into motion. An enormous blue wave of magic burst forth from her wand, and Harry felt his hair stand on end as the it approached him. He cast a quick _Protego_ , hoping against hope that the shield held.

Much to his relief, the blue wave splashed harmlessly upon his shield. Harry slammed his wand down, casting a Stunner at Lily, but to his utter surprise, she had long since vacated her spot. A burst of purple light surged towards him from his three 'o clock position and Harry was forced to jump forward to avoid it. He gaped as he realised that Lily was actually _sprinting_ around the room, and towards him, like a lioness closing in for the kill.

He also realised, as he managed to deflect a powerful spell and then ducked under another, that he had gotten way too used to Narcissa's style of duelling – where his opponent stood rooted to the spot and used her powerful grasp of advanced magic to overwhelm him. Lily, on the other hand, was far more aggressive – Harry backed away as his mother, not ten feet away from him now, sent out a flare of white light that burst outwards in a narrow arc, missing him by a hair.

He decided, heart pounding at the sight of the fierce redhead closing in for the proverbial kill, that in this particular case, retreat was the better part of valour. So he started sprinting clockwise around the room, away from Lily, but it was far too late. His mother had already closed in. Harry frantically spun on the spot towards her, whipping out his wand, but grunted as he felt a foot stab into his stomach, leaving him wheezing. Her fist came crashing down onto him, but he managed to block it in time with his wand arm. She spun on the spot and crouched, kicking his legs out from under him. He tumbled onto the floor, but used the momentum of his fall to roll, narrowly avoiding a spell from her wand.

 _Bombarda_ , Harry thought desperately, jabbing his wand out, while reining in his magic so that the spell wouldn't achieve its full effect, and the space between them _exploded_ , shoving him a few feet back and giving him space he desperately needed.

As the dust cleared, he noticed that Lily had long since swerved to the side, avoiding his blast. His spell, however, seemed to have blown the edge off a desk – something he hadn't quite intended.

"Goodness!" Lily said, staring at the desk.

"Sorry," Harry panted right back.

"Don't apologize!" Lily said, as she brought her wand back to bear, "This is _great_!"

 _Oh crap_ , Harry thought as Lily sent what appeared to be a swirling spiral of light at him, which he managed to break with a hasty jinx – he had no idea what that spell had been, but he was acting on sheer instinct at this point.

Lily waved her wand again and Harry hastily conjured a shield, but he saw nothing issue forth from her wand. He frowned and used the break in her casting to launch several rapid-fire jinxes at Lily, who smiled and conjured what seemed to be a large wooden… _battering ram_.

"Holy shit!" Harry yelled as the enormous cylindrical ram barrelled towards him, taking all of his jinxes in stride and still managing to maintain its forward speed. He rolled aside and then _pushed_ outward with his wand, casting an _Impedimenta_ jinx. The ram's momentum slowed and he bought himself enough time to step to the side just as the ram pushed past him. He smashed his fist into the ram, casting a spell simultaneously and _pushing_ outward yet again.

The ram ricocheted back, as if thrown by a giant. Lily's eyes widened, but she smoothly stepped to the side to avoid the log and it smashed into the wall behind her. She then surged forwards again, moving right at Harry and conjured a flock of live birds that swooped down on him.

He tried to run away, but his limbs were feeling weaker with every passing instant. He wearily conjured bluebell flames, and the birds screeched as they caught on fire. Lily, however, surged right through his fire, completely unscathed, with a faint smile on her face. She lashed out with her left, simultaneously bringing her wand to bear upon him. Harry tried to block both with his own hands, but he only managed to parry her wand-arm, which shot a jinx past his left ear. Her left fist slammed into his stomach, leaving him completely winded.

His limbs felt like lead now and the world was beginning to blur. Surely, Harry thought, he hadn't been punished _that_ badly. His eyes felt heavy and he just wanted to go to sleep.

Lily kicked out at him and he fell to the floor, which felt very comfortable. If he could only rest for a bit… just sleep… just…

When he came to, thankfully, he seemed to be lying prone on the ground, and curled up.

"You look sort of adorable when you sleep," Lily said from somewhere above him, her voice betraying her smug satisfaction.

Harry looked up blearily and the world burst into focus again. He had been disarmed, and Lily stood towering over his prone body, twirling his wand in her hand with a smirk.

"Looks like you beat me," Harry said as he straightened his body, still lying on the ground, and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm pretty damn impressed, in any case. Your skills far outmatch your peers'," Lily said, "And don't get up – the charm takes a while to wear off. It isn't like a Stunning Spell or a Body-Bind."

Harry, who had begun to push himself up, paused, shrugged and lay back down.

"Charm?" he asked, puzzled, staring up at Lily, "What charm?"

Lily just smiled at him serenely. Harry wracked his brain and tried to recollect the details of the duel – and realized that his weariness towards the end of the duel had not been due to a lack of stamina; it had been magically induced. Then, he remembered Lily casting something that did not manifest as a visible spell during the duel, immediately after she had sent that swirling spiral of light at him.

"You cast a charm during the duel," Harry said, awestruck, "Like… a Sleeping Spell?"

"Something like that," Lily said, laughing.

"I… wow," Harry said, getting up gingerly, and holding out his hand for his wand, which Lily promptly handed back to him, "I wasn't really watching for more obscure charms there."

Lily shook her head. "Charms are very, _very_ powerful, Harry," she said, "But not in terms of the end effect so much as in _how_ they operate."

"I don't follow," Harry said, idly dusting down his pants.

"Think about it, Harry," Lily said, "What inherent advantage do Charms have when cast upon a living opponent? Don't think in terms of the effect they have on the opponent; think, rather, in terms of _how_ the caster goes about ensuring the charm hits its desired target."

Harry realized what Lily was getting at. "Charms aren't visible," he said at last.

Lily nodded with an approving smile. "Yup," she said, "Charms aren't visible to the human eye because they don't operate in the same manner as a jinx, or most other spells. There's no lightshow, and no conjuration that springs out from thin air."

"Like your battering ram," Harry interrupted.

Lily flushed a bit. "I _might_ have gone a bit overboard there," she admitted.

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. "You think?" he asked sarcastically.

"Says the man who cast a _Bombarda_ at me," Lily countered.

"So," Harry asked quickly, "Why don't charms show themselves in the same way as other spells?"

"Because," Lily replied, "Charms, and for that matter some curses, don't really _commandeer_ magic."

"Commandeer?" Harry asked.

"When a witch, or a wizard, casts a spell, the spell doesn't come from within her… or him," Lily explained, "Magic-users merely have an _affinity_ – and that affinity is still not very well-understood – for magic itself, which pervades the world around us.

"When casting most spells, what magic-users really do is _channel_ magic through their wands to achieve a certain effect. Which is akin to commandeering magic and moulding it to form something. And magic, when it's absorbed and channelled by magic-users through a wand becomes _visible_ – it basically manifests itself as a spell, and the spell makes itself known by means of a light-show or a conjuration."

"And charms?" Harry prompted.

"When a magic-user casts a charm, she does not commandeer magic; rather, she causes a perturbation _within_ it. Think about it this way: when I cast the Stunning Spell – which is a jinx, by the way, for all practical purposes – I'm basically dealing with _just_ magic. I'm channelling it through my wand to achieve a red burst of light, which, when it lands on a living entity, forces its biological process to halt.

"On the other hand, when I cast a charm – like a Cheering Charm, for instance – I'm basically _asking_ magic to affect _you_ in turn."

Harry rubbed on his lips thoughtfully with his thumb. "I think I get it," he said, "Sort of reminds me of an experiment I saw in primary school."

"Oh?" Lily asked.

"Yeah, it was called the Pendulum Wave," Harry said, "They basically held five pendulums right against each other. When you pull the first pendulum and let it slam into the row of pendulums, only the last pendulum in the row swings forward."

"Exactly!" Lily said excitedly, "That's an excellent analogy. A charm is basically a disturbance within the magical field that permeates the world around us and it subtly manifests itself _only_ on the desired target. Which gives them an inherent advantage, in the sense that your opponent cannot _see_ the charm take shape and charge towards him. He can only _feel_ the charm after it's been cast."

"I see," Harry said slowly.

"However," Lily added, "If your opponent has an encyclopaedic knowledge of charms, he, or she, can probably figure out that you're casting a charm from your wand movements."

Harry nodded.

"Anyway," Lily said, "I'm very impressed by your performance in the ring, Harry. The way you stopped my… uh… ram… and threw it back was amazing – you're throwing around a lot of power. You seem to have a… unprecedented… affinity for magic, and I do not make that claim lightly."

"I guess," Harry said with a shrug.

Lily's eyes glinted. She paced away from him and then turned, raising her wand. The timer glowed again, setting itself to "3".

Harry palmed his face, and then sighed. He raised his own wand.

"Go again?" she asked.

Harry grit his teeth and nodded.

* * *

Three days later, as he ate breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry was beginning to realize that _both_ of the new women in his life, so to speak, could beat him handily in a duel, and that might _not_ be such a good thing. While one tended to bandy about intricate spells and obscure curses as she danced in place, taking him down with the sheer artistry of her spell-casting, the other tended to use powerful spells and didn't hesitate to close in (and the sight of Lily charging towards him as she unleashed spell after spell was downright _scary_ , when Harry came to think of it) and sully herself with physical blows, while still managing to sneak in subtly cast charms that brought him to his knees. And the worst part was that he was nursing a crush on one of them… that the other incidentally happened to loathe.

Harry squirmed in place as he ate his toast and then looked around, hoping to distract himself with something else.

And for once, the universe obliged. The routine swarm of owls rushed into the hall, dropping off mail and other oddities. A copy of _The Daily Prophet_ landed on Hermione's lap, who promptly paid her owl and opened up the newspaper delicately.

"Oh," Hermione said mildly, "Apparently, a Death Eater was found dead at Azkaban."

Next to Harry, Neville laughed as Ron tried to shovel a spoonful of pudding into his mouth and missed completely, owing to Ginny nudging him at _just_ the right moment. The pudding promptly splattered onto his face.

"Yeah," Ron said morosely as Neville continued to laugh, "Great going, Gin-Gin."

Ginny giggled.

Harry smiled, and then, registering that Hermione was glaring at everyone for their lack of interest in what she was reciting from the paper, asked, "Er… a Death Eater? Like, a follower of Voldemort?"

Seamus, who was chatting away with Dean to his right, flinched violently. Ginny and Neville winced. Ron missed his next spoonful as well, and it added to the splatter on his face.

" _Harry_!" he whined.

Everyone seemed to recover immediately and laughed, again.

"Yes," Hermione said primly, "And according to what I've read, _this_ particular Death Eater was the most powerful and fanatical follower of the Dark Lord."

Neville abruptly stopped laughing and stared at Hermione, his face draining of all colour. Ginny stopped giggling and glanced at Neville in concern.

"What…," Neville asked in a trembling voice, "What's the name?"

"Of the Death Eater that died?" Hermione asked, looking down at the paper. She smoothed the paper and turned it around to face Harry, and Neville to Harry's left. "Bellatrix," Hermione said, "Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Whoa," Ginny and Ron said at once.

"I've heard of her," Ron added, but was quickly shushed by a concerned-looking Ginny, who was staring at Neville.

Neville had gone completely white. His hands trembled as he reached for the paper and pulled it towards him. He read through the article, his eyes roving wildly from side to side across the page. He then dropped his spoon with a clatter and got up abruptly. Without looking at any of them and with his hands still shaking, he quietly left the Great Hall.

"What was that all about?" Ron whispered. Hermione and Ginny shrugged.

Harry, on the other hand, took up the paper and skimmed through the article. The first three paragraphs were dedicated to the mysterious death of the former Death Eater, apparently by self-mutilation. The Ministry was then chastised for not even bothering to look into the death or conducting a post-mortem examination; apparently, the officials in charge of Azkaban exhumed the body immediately.

"This reporter's pretty harsh on the Ministry," Harry observed.

"It's a Rita Skeeter article, Harry," Hermione said, as if that explained everything.

Harry looked up at her curiously.

"Skeeter's a total hag," Ron said in a low voice, "She loves screwing over the Ministry for no reason at all. Her article about my Dad – he had some business with an ex-auror a couple of weeks ago – had Mom ranting for days."

"She does seem to have some legitimate ground to stand on in this case," Harry countered. He moved onto the last paragraph of the article and gasped.

 _"…_ _Bellatrix Lestrange,"_ the article read, _"Most notorious for her torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom into insanity, her death might not spur the same amount of indignation towards the concept of Azkaban as the release of Sirius Black (curiously, the first cousin of Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black), but the Ministry can expect to face a lot of flak for their pathetic attempt to cover up the death, in any event."_

"What?" Ron asked Harry.

He merely turned the paper back towards Hermione and pointed to the offending paragraph. Ron and Ginny leaned in from either side to read the article as well.

"Merlin," Ron gasped, "I had no idea Neville's parents had been… tortured like that. You think they're still…?"

The gangly redhead made a vague gesture, but Harry got the hint. He shrugged. "No idea," he replied, "But no wonder Neville's upset by all this."

"He's probably glad she's dead," Hermione whispered, "But it must be quite a shock to have it mentioned so casually in the papers."

Harry nodded. "We should probably give him a bit of space for now," he said, "But we should all go cheer him up later. Maybe before our first lesson…?"

"It's Charms, Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head in frustration, "I can't believe you don't memorize your class schedule!"

"You mean other people _do_ that?" Harry retorted with a grin.

Hermione huffed and stared at him for a moment. Then, after an instant, Hermione's eyes lit up and they both burst into laughter.

* * *

Borgin grumbled to himself as he began to sweep the far corner of his shop with slow, lazy strokes of his cleaning brush. He could have charmed the broom, but he had to keep up appearances; it was mid-day, and customers usually chose this particular moment to enter his shop, often with ridiculous demands and expectations.

Borgin could usually slot his customers into one of three types. The first kind of customer was the Nervous Ninny. This sort of customer entered the shop with a nervous tick – they knew they weren't supposed to be there, and yet ventured in because they needed to, by choice or by circumstance. They would fumble about with their money, cast frequent glances at the people milling about outside and titter nervously. They were _sheep_ ripe for the swindling; he could safely push his prices unreasonably high when a Nervous Ninny entered his office and they would still purchase whatever they had come to his shop for.

The second kind of customer was the Pureblood Dandy. This sort of customer was usually a pureblood, or acted like one, entered the shop like they owned it and pretended to know absolutely everything about the artefacts he stocked. At the end of the day though, they were absolute tightwads – a necessary evil for a businessman in his position. Unfortunately for Borgin, the Pureblood Dandy was the most common customer that patronized his shop – he had to make like an obsequious toady when they were around, and the bargaining usually gave him a headache afterwards.

The third kind of customer was the _Fucking_ Fencer. Borgin's tolerance level for this sort of customer was very, _very_ low; they came in all shapes and sizes, hoping to sell off dark artefacts that they had stolen from someone, or wanted to get rid of before they were raided by the Ministry. But they never wanted to buy a thing – they just wanted to take _his_ money for a service he was performing for _them_ : hiding their dirty laundry. These were the sort of customers that Borgin took the greatest pleasure in fleecing.

Of course, a long time ago, there had been a _fourth_ kind of customer – the sort that made him wish he hadn't opened his shop at all that day – but that sort of customer had been made irrelevant by the end of the last war.

The sound of a chime signalled that the door to his shop had opened. Borgin wearily set the broom aside and trundled up to his usual spot.

"Hey, look at me!" chirped a very high-pitched female voice that sent a shiver up his spine. The voice continued in a sing-song tone, " _I'm bargin' into Borgin, I'm lurkin' at Burke's, I'm lookin' for some lootin', I'm wearin' a Mark_!"

Borgin stopped breathing for an instant and the shop seemed to reel as he stood in place. Suddenly, his entire world seemed to slip out from under him, leaving him cold and floundering in the dark.

He turned around, trembling uncontrollably, and his breath hitched as his eyes fell upon a hooded woman, followed by a tall hooded man.

"That song," he panted, backing away from the duo, even as his artefacts began to vibrate in place, "No, no, no, it can't be… I… I…"

The woman dropped her hood. Borgin's jaw dropped as he looked upon the terrible visage of Bellatrix Lestrange. The same heavy head of black hair, the same heavy-lidded eyes, the same tan skin. But what clinched the deal were the cold grey eyes – no other pair of eyes could hold the same amount of sheer… _evil_ … as was present in _her_ eyes. They virtually shone with the sort of insanity that was a _choice_ rather than an affliction.

"Long time, no see, Todgy-Podgy Borgin!" she sang.

Borgin tried to breathe deeply, but even his lungs seemed to be reluctant to draw air in the woman's presence.

"You're… you're supposed to be dead," he rasped.

" _Lady Death, Lady Death_!" Bellatrix shrieked. Then she closed in on Borgin, her face inches away from his. He dimly registered that the skull-like visage he remembered from the papers after her incarceration had changed significantly – she looked far healthier, and more like the schoolgirl who had visited his shop a long time ago on her father's behalf.

"Like what you see, Borgin?" she whispered, her voice trembling with what could only be construed as irrational _delight_.

Borgin shook his head frantically. Bellatrix extended a long, dainty forefinger towards him and bopped him on the nose, biting her lip. Then she pouted.

"Awww, poor widdle Borgin," she said with a sneer, "Don't worry, widdle one, I'm here on business. Not… _pleasure_." She traced her forefinger down his nose as she said the last word and then backed away. Borgin breathed a sigh of relief.

"I… I have not strayed from the cause…" Borgin ventured, but he was cut off, this time by Bellatrix's hooded accomplice, who was still hovering near the door.

"We're not here to question your devotion, Borgin," the man said coolly. Borgin frowned – the voice seemed… familiar. "We're here _for_ something."

"Anything," Borgin gasped. Then, during the uncomfortable pause that followed, he blurted, "Is… is _he_ back?"

Bellatrix whipped around and slammed her arm outwards, not even bothering to draw her wand. Magic seemed to burst outward from her palm as Borgin rose into the air and slammed into the wall, as if he were strung upon invisible ropes.

"Don't you _dare_ ask about Him with that _filthy_ tongue!" Bellatrix screeched. The air around her sizzled with the sheer amount of _power_ coiling around her. "Don't you _dare_! Don't you _dare_ ask about Him! DON'T YOU _DARE_!"

If he had any doubts before about the woman's identity, they were all gone now. There were very few witches and wizards who could command _this_ sort of power.

"I won't, I _won't_!" Borgin pleaded frantically as his oily hair whipped around his face and every single thing in his shop began to vibrate with the _force_ of Bellatrix's rage, "Please…"

Bellatrix sniffed. The magic subsided and Borgin collapsed to the floor in a heap.

"Now that that particular bit of drama is over," the man said coldly, advancing upon Borgin, "Perhaps we can move onto other topics, hm?"

"I… I just don't want any trouble," Borgin said, his voice hoarse, "You can take whatever you want from my shop. _Anything_!"

The man continued nonchalantly, "We're not interested in what you have for sale, fool. We're here for an asset of a… different nature – information. About someone."

"Who?" Borgin asked.

"A goblin, actually," the man said mildly.

"I don't know many goblins," Borgin confessed, "Perhaps you should go to Gringotts?"

Bellatrix leaned casually against a desk and cackled. "So quick to confess!" she exclaimed, "Todgy-Podgy Borgin!"

The shopkeeper shuddered.

"I have a feeling you know exactly who we're talking about, Borgin," the hooded man said in a low voice, "And you're going to tell us all you know about him."

Borgin took a deep, shuddering breath, and exhaled.

"Look, I just… I do that sort of thing on the side… making people… disappear when they want to disappear," Borgin said quickly, "But I'm still just the middleman. I don't actually forge anything – I just direct these individuals to specific quarters where they can… carve out a new identity for themselves."

"Of course," the man said graciously, "The goblin was one of these… customers, I suppose."

"Yes," Borgin said, "I… er… directed him to a Bulgarian gentleman who was desperate to lend his flat to… someone."

"What was this goblin running from?" the man asked curiously.

"Same old, same old," Borgin said, "Fudged his accounts at Gringotts and the management caught wind of it. So he fled."

"And came to you," the man said. "But where did he go?"

"To Bulgaria," Borgin replied, "The gentleman I mentioned? His flat was in Sofia – this goblin you're after… I told him he could lay low for a while there."

"I… see," the man said. He turned to Bellatrix and gestured to the door out of Borgin's shop. The shopkeeper sagged against the wall in relief. "Shall we?" the man asked, addressing Bellatrix.

Bellatrix nodded sharply, pulled her hood up and turned to leave.

"Why… why are you after this goblin?" Borgin asked. He then cursed himself for his curiosity as the two looked at each other, and spun in unison to face him.

"This goblin was the caretaker of Vault Seven Thirteen," the man said mildly. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Borgin shook his head slowly.

"Good," the man said. Bellatrix whipped her wand out before Borgin could react and murmured, " _Obliviate_."

As the flash of light from Bellatrix wand sped towards him, the last thought Borgin had before he was lost to blissful ignorance was how much he _loathed_ the fourth kind of customer.

* * *

Two months into their first semester, on the thirtieth of October, Harry packed away his books after the last class of the day – Defence against the Dark Arts – and reflected on the past couple of months. School had kept him very busy for the past few weeks. He had duelled with both Narcissa and Lily several times in the past months and had learned a lot in terms of spells – especially with respect to wizarding duels. He had yet to beat either Narcissa or Lily, but he could hold his own for quite a while, except for the odd match where he lost his focus and they beat him handily.

"I have to admit," Hermione confided, startling Harry out of his reverie, "She might be Malfoy's mother, and all that, but she's… in all honesty… the best Defence teacher we've ever had." The girl then inclined her head towards Narcissa, who was clearing up the teacher's table.

"Oi!" Ron whispered hotly, facing them and then looking over his shoulder at Narcissa, who was talking to a couple of Ravenclaws that had approached her desk after class, "Don't _say_ that!"

"Lupin was pretty good," said Dean Thomas, who had been sitting next to Ron and was clearing up his own desk.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose he was," Hermione said hesitantly, "I guess it's just that what Professor Malfoy is teaching us seems so much more interesting than dealing with hinkypunks and grindylows."

"She knows her stuff," Harry admitted.

"And I have no idea what her personal opinion on pureblood rights is," Hermione added, ignoring Ron's spluttering, "But she's surprisingly fair. And she even answers every single one of my questions with a smile!"

"Traitors," Ron muttered darkly, "Traitors, the lot of you."

Dean chuckled.

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Hermione said.

"There's also the minor fact that she's a bloody _looker_ ," Seamus interjected, walking up to Dean.

Dean nodded fervently. "Cor," he said, "Totally _dishy_. One of the three best-looking teachers in the school."

"Oh yeah," Seamus said with a thoughtful frown, "She belongs right up there with Sinistra and Po… er…"

Seamus seemed to realize Harry was standing right in front of him. The Irish boy trailed off and Dean snickered, much to Harry's bemusement and Hermione's disgust.

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but then seemed to think better of it. "I… guess I have to agree with you guys," he declared.

Harry looked at Ron with raised eyebrows.

"Erm," Ron said quickly, "I mean, I agree with them about Malfoy's mum being hot, not about your mom being a looker… not that your mom's a minger or all that… er… I'm not doing too well, am I?"

Dean _and_ Seamus snickered this time around.

"Pigs!" Hermione whispered furiously, "I'm talking to a bunch of pigs. The lot of you are _disgusting_."

"What?" Dean retorted, "You don't think she's totally hot?"

"She's a _Professor_ ," Hermione murmured, "And yes, I _do_ think she's beautiful, but…"

"Aha!" Seamus exclaimed, pointing at Hermione triumphantly.

"Oh _honestly_ ," Hermione muttered.

"Traitors, the lot of you," Ron grumbled again, "She's still a _Slytherin_ and a _Malfoy_."

Hermione huffed. She then glanced at the desk and her eyes lit up as she noticed that the Ravenclaws had left. She patted down her hair lightly and approached Narcissa's desk meekly, pulling Harry along with her. Ron just gaped at the lot of them, while Dean and Seamus looked on in amusement.

"What're you doing?" he whispered furiously, clutching onto Harry's _other_ arm and staying rooted to the spot, "We don't have time to waste! We're supposed to assemble downstairs for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrival!"

"Oh, let _go_ , Ron!" Hermione retorted, pulling Harry along even more furiously, making the messy-haired boy _very_ uncomfortable as he became an unwilling rope in the tug of war between his friends, "I just want to ask her a question!"

"So why are you taking _Harry_ along?" Ron asked back.

"Because I want _company_!" Hermione snarled.

"Uh… guys…" Harry said. Dean and Seamus started laughing.

"So do I!" Ron said.

"Guys," Harry said in a warning voice, and grunted as his friends pulled him in opposite directions.

"What?" they both asked in unison, facing him.

"She's coming to _us_ ," Harry said, jerking his head towards Narcissa, who had begun to walk towards them, her lips curved upwards in an amused smile as she took in the sight of Harry being tugged in either direction by his friends.

Hermione made an "eep" sound and let go of Harry's hand immediately. Ron followed suit as well, his ears flushing in inimitable Weasley fashion, and Dean bopped him on the head.

"May I help you?" Narcissa asked, her eyes glimmering with amusement.

"Professor," Hermione said breathlessly, "I was just wondering if I could trouble you with a question."

Ron gagged. Narcissa smiled. "And here I thought you had exhausted all ability to form an interrogative sentence during class, Miss Granger," she said.

Hermione flushed. Narcissa laughed – a high, tinkling peal of amusement that never failed to send a pleasant shudder or two down Harry's spine – and said, "I'm joking, Miss Granger," she said, "But I'm afraid we're cutting it a bit close, aren't we?"

Hermione's face fell.

"But," Narcissa consoled her, "I'm sure we can work out an appointment for you; how does tomorrow at seven sound?"

Hermione perked up again. "Yes, Professor," she said eagerly, to Ron's continuing dismay.

"And you may all feel free to tag along," she said, looking across their little group.

Hermione looked at Harry with pleading eyes, while Ron glared at him.

"I…" Harry said looking between his friends, "Sure, Professor. Thank you."

Hermione beamed. Ron looked like he wanted to burn a hole through Harry.

Narcissa cleared her throat. She then gestured to the practice dummies they had been using during class to practice their aim with specific jinxes.

"I was wondering if one of you would be kind enough to volunteer to help clean up the classroom," Narcissa said.

Hermione looked like she wanted to say yes, but was obviously not confident enough to stay with Narcissa all by herself. Ron looked like he would rather go sit on a pike. Dean and Seamus looked completely uncertain.

"Sure," Harry said at last, "I'll help."

Hermione and Ron looked highly alarmed at that. "Uh… we'll wait outside?" Hermione asked.

"No need," Narcissa said firmly, "I'll escort Mister Potter back to the assembly outside the Great Hall myself."

The remaining four students looked back and forth among themselves. Harry waved his hand at them and nodded confidently. They nodded back and made their way out of the classroom.

Harry and Narcissa got to work as soon as the door closed, working in practised synchronicity and pushing at the dummies with magic so that they lined up against the circular wall on one side. Narcissa waved her wand; the desk and chairs drifted to the centre of the classroom again and aligned themselves. Harry admired the ease with which she used magic – and he was partly ashamed to admit that he also admired the way her wavy blonde hair draped around her shoulders elegantly, and how beautiful her sculpted face looked in the partial lighting within the classroom.

"So," Narcissa asked, casually, making him avert his wandering eyes, "I presume you submitted your name for consideration?"

"For the tournament?" Harry asked. Then he shrugged and nodded. "Yeah," he said.

He looked at Narcissa, who hummed to herself as she adjusted the motion of the chairs so that they lined themselves up perfectly in front of their respective desks.

"So," he asked, mimicking her earlier question, "You… er… rooting for Mal… Draco?"

Narcissa gave him a flat look. "Of course I am," she said warmly, "He's my _son_ , Harry."

"Of course," Harry said quickly and turned away.

"But I have to admit, as much as I dote on Draco," Narcissa said, to Harry's consternation, "He stands a very slim chance of being selected."

"Oh?"

"While most of the charms and spells that went into forging that goblet have long since been lost to time, most experts agree that the Goblet selects contestants on the basis of their _affinity_ for influencing the Nexus. So, basically, only the most powerful wizards – or the wizards with the potential _for_ power – get selected."

"Oh," Harry said. He sighed in relief, mixed with a bit of disappointment – that meant the Goblet would most likely select a Sixth or Seventh year student, given their ability and power.

He looked up, only to see that Narcissa had closed the distance between them and was nodding at his work in approval.

"I'm done," he said.

"So am I," Narcissa responded. She then leaned in and whispered into his ear, "And by the way, I'm _also_ rooting for you."

She drew back, her golden locks brushing his face ever so softly and her fingers caressing his cheeks, turned on the spot and left the room with Harry in tow, his cheeks still burning with the touch of her skin on his.

* * *

Harry looked at his watch – a brand new runic contraption that Lily had bought for him over summer and realized that he had a long way to go for breakfast. Which meant he could jog a bit more than he had intended, again.

What had started out as an activity that could help him be more attractive to Narcissa had now become a habit to Harry. On weekdays, he usually got up early in the morning to do some exercises – jogging and a few body-weight sets. Moreover, Harry found that he actually liked jogging on the Hogwarts grounds; granted, the countryside did offer a bit more variety in terms of terrain, which made jogging more challenging, but the sheer beauty of the grounds took his breath away. And even the creatures that flitted about as he jogged – fairies, bowtruckles, flobberworms… and he had even seen a hippogriff once – were so fantastic and surreal.

Thinking about hippogriffs made him feel a bit sorry for Hagrid. Hagrid had come really close to losing his post as Professor for Care of Magical Creatures - thanks to Malfoy's oafish behaviour with a hippogriff that resulted in the beast mauling the blonde idiot - but Dumbledore managed to exercise his considerable influence to keep the Board from laying off Hagrid. Nonetheless, the hippogriff, named Buckbeak, had been sentenced to death.

However, Harry, Hermione and Ron, as was their wont, had interfered and saved it – they freed Buckbeak after the executioner had arrived and made it look as if the hippogriff freed itself. Of course, the executioner was very disappointed and Dumbledore seemed to know about their role in freeing Buckbeak, but Hagrid remained as clueless and happy as ever. Harry wondered how Buckbeak was doing - he hoped the beast was happy wandering about in the Forbidden Forest.

And he berated himself for not visiting Hagrid this term – it was an error he would have to correct soon.

He was distracted from his thoughts at the sight of a very serene Luna Lovegood walking across the grounds as he jogged back to the castle.

"Hey, Luna!" Harry called out, panting, "Where are you off to this fine morning?"

Luna looked at him and smiled, her eyes staring off into space as usual. "Hello, Harry," she said, her voice almost musical in tone, "I'm going to meet Firenze."

"Firenze?" Harry asked, "The centaur? You know him?"

"Yes," Luna said, walking across to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, with a very curious Harry keeping pace, "I like talking to Firenze; centaurs have so many things to talk about."

"So many things?" Harry echoed, nonplussed, "You mean, apart from the stars and planets?"

Luna looked over at him. "But there are so _many_ stars and planets, Harry," she said.

"I suppose," he admitted. Then he asked, "Would Firenze mind if I tagged along?"

"Centaurs don't mind talking to people at all, Harry," she said, "Unless they're infected by Nargles. You're not infected by Nargles, are you?"

"Er… no," he said quickly. He then turned to Luna and asked, "What did you think of the arrival ceremony last night?"

"I liked the Durmstrang ship," Luna replied, "But Beauxbatons had those beautiful Abraxan horses..."

"Yeah," Harry said, "Hagrid must love taking care of those. Anyway, did you see Viktor Krum? I don't think anyone had any idea he was still a student."

"I don't follow Quidditch," Luna confessed, "But Ronald seems _very_ excited."

Harry laughed. "And so are most girls at Hogwarts," he said.

They walked along in silence for a while, before Luna started humming a very familiar tune.

"Hey," he said as he recognized the tune, "That's… that song, isn't it? That song by… Dela… Dela… something."

"Dawn of Magic by Apolline Delacour," Luna said with a slow nod, "I really like that song. It's one of my most enduring memories from childhood."

"Oh?"

"My mother sang that song to me every night," she said.

"Oh, right. Yeah, my mom seems to really like that song too," Harry said. He grinned. "Must be a seventies thing," he said.

Then he looked at Luna closely. "Luna," he said after a pause, "You haven't really mentioned your mother before…"

"She died when I was nine," Luna said, her voice as serene as ever, "She was a very clever witch – one of the best arithmancers in the country. Experimented with charms, you see. One day, her experiment went very wrong. And I did not see her again."

Harry's breath hitched. "Luna," he said seriously, "I'm _really_ sorry."

"That's alright, Harry," she said, "It was a long time ago."

She then pointed at the Forest, looming ever closer as they walked towards it. "There he is," she said, pointing at a distant silhouette.

As they drew closer, the sun cast enough light for Harry to make out the broad upper torso of a human being that blended seamlessly with the body of a palomino horse.

"Luna Lovegood," the centaur said in a deep voice, his sapphire eyes glinting in the light of dawn, "And you've brought Harry Potter with you. It's been a long time, Mister Potter."

"Hello, Firenze," she said. Harry nodded at the centaur.

"I have brought you what you asked me for, child," the centaur said, handing Luna a bag, "This weed grows in abundance in the centre of the forest."

Harry looked at Luna inquisitively as she thanked the centaur.

"It's a variant of bubotuber," Luna explained, looking at him, "I'm working on a Potions project with Professor Potter."

"Oh," Harry said, "I had no idea. You must really like Potions."

"I do. Hermione's working on the same project as well," Luna informed him, "Along with a couple of NEWT students. Professor Potter asked me if I could secure this particular ingredient, and I asked Firenze for help."

Harry turned to Firenze. "We… bumped into each other when this young one was wandering aimlessly through the forest in her first year – she had no idea it was called the Forbidden Forest for a reason," the centaur explained, "I escorted her back to the castle and informed the Headmaster, who chastised her appropriately. We have since become friends."

"I see," Harry said. He had no idea what else to say – his forays into the Forbidden Forest were never voluntary. _And how the hell does one become friends with an adult centaur anyway?_

"Harry and I were just talking about this song – _The Dawn of Magic_ ," Luna said, addressing the centaur, "Have you heard of it?"

Firenze looked up at the sky. "I like songs," he said wistfully, "The herd sings few songs, but I like them all the same. But I do not know many human songs."

He then looked at Luna. "How does the song go, child?" he asked.

Luna sang in a soft, melodic voice:

" _Baseborn, forged in flame,_

 _Bloodied, on shores of yonder sea,_

 _Careworn, amid leafy glades,_

 _Entombed, he shall know peace._

 _Fire, ocean, earth and bone,_

 _'_ _Ere magic rests to atone."_

Firenze smiled at Luna. "That is a beautiful tune," he said, "But that is no song. It is a _prophecy_."

Both Luna and Harry looked at Firenze curiously.

"A prophecy that made itself known even as magic was gifted unto this world," Firenze said, "A prophecy as old as _magic_ itself. We centaurs know it well – we have our own version of the prophecy. _Carreg-nei, thuihen mithrin_ , the prophecy is called in our tongue. It would translate to – _Stone of low birth, forged in flame_."

" _Baseborn, forged in flame_ ," Harry said. He then scratched his chin. "I had no idea the song was referring to a… stone?"

"Among _many_ other things," Firenze replied looking up at the sky.

The centaur then turned to Harry, sapphire eyes virtually boring into him. "You," he said, pointing a muscular forearm at Harry, "You, of all people should know this, Mister Potter."

On that mysterious note, the centaur turned his back to them and galloped off into the depths of the forest once more.

* * *

"I'm telling you guys," Ron hissed as Harry sat down for breakfast after a quick shower, "There's something _about_ that girl!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked at Luna, who merely stared right back. The blonde Ravenclaw tended to sit at their table often as the semester wore on.

"You guys still talking about the _bouillabaisse_ girl?" Harry asked them.

"No," Ginny said firmly, "Just Ron."

"Oh, take a look around yourselves," Ron hissed. He jerked a thumb up along the table. They all looked at a trio of Seventh Years at the Ravenclaw table, who were practically drooling as they stared at the girl opposite them.

"Oh for the love of…" Ginny said.

"She _is_ very pretty though," Luna admitted.

"Pretty?" Ron asked incredulously, " _Pretty_? Luna, Harry's _owl_ is pretty. That Beauxbatons bird, though, is absolutely _beyond_ beautiful."

"Hedwig would feel very insulted, I'm sure," Harry chortled.

"Don't _you_ think she's beautiful?" Ron asked him.

Ginny glared at Harry as he fidgeted nervously in his seat. Luckily, Hermione saved him.

" _Fine_ ," Hermione said abruptly, "She's _very_ beautiful. Now stop eyeing her up like she's a piece of meat, you oaf. She's a woman, and she has a _name_."

"Oh yeah?" Ron challenged, "Do _you_ know her name?"

"Fleur Delacour," Hermione said imperiously. Ron goggled at her.

"How'd you hear about it?" Ron asked desperately.

Hermione flushed. "I pay _attention_ , Ron," she said quickly.

Ginny looked at Hermione shrewdly. "You asked around, didn't you?" she asked.

"Maybe," Hermione defended.

Ginny giggled. Luna, on the other hand, nodded sympathetically. "To be fair, I'd want to find out too," she said. Ginny giggled harder, while Hermione looked at Luna, nonplussed.

Harry had _no_ idea what that was about.

"So," Ron asked, looking equally bewildered, "You guys have any idea how that Goblet chooses the best student from each school?"

"Apparently," Harry said, "The goblet's secrets have been lost to time, but most people think it uses some sort of advanced magic to figure out the _potential_ each candidate has, and then selects the candidate with the most potential for power."

"It's a bit more technical than that," Hermione interjected, "The goblet is believed to measure…"

"The ability of a magic-user to influence magic itself," Harry completed. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

"You've read ' _A Comprehensive History of the Schools of Magical Europe_ '?" she asked curiously.

"Uh… no," Harry said, "I was just repeating something I heard from someone."

"From who?" Hermione pressed.

Harry fumbled for an answer, but it turned out the rest of the table wasn't very interested anyway.

"How do you reckon the tasks will be set up?" Ron asked eagerly.

"One of them is going to have a giant chessboard for sure," Ginny replied.

"Really?" Ron asked, practically bouncing in place. He then caught Ginny's grin and waggled a finger at her. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

Ginny smirked.

"Apparently," Hermione continued, still looking curiously at Harry, "The three tasks are usually structured so that the first two tasks only influence the winner's standing in the _third_ task – at least that's the way they've been set up for the last one hundred tournaments."

"What does that mean?" Ron asked.

"Basically," Hermione explained, looking at all of them in turn, "The first two tasks are point-based. The best participant in each task is the one who gets the highest number of points. The points are then tallied after the first two tasks are over. The third task is where the _real_ winner is determined. Participants with higher points usually receive an advantage in the third task, but that's it. Whoever wins the third task wins the tournament."

"So, a person can score low in the first two tasks, win the third task and still take the trophy home?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, "Although, it's usually the highest scorer in the first two tasks that goes on to win the third task… and the tournament, because of that advantage I mentioned."

"So a points advantage in the first two tasks translates to some sort of magical assistance in the third task?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Holy _hell_ she's _hot_ ," Ron said suddenly. Harry glanced at Ron and sighed. He looked around, only to see the blonde girl – Fleur Delacour – exit the Great Hall, her lustrous hair swinging behind her in an enticing manner.

"Okay, I guess she's _really_ beautiful," Harry said casually, turning back around. His words then froze in his mouth as he saw none other than Lily Potter standing behind Ron.

A slightly bemused Lily Potter who was looking at him with pursed lips.

"Uh, I was just… that is… Ron… And then I… and then she… er…" Harry stammered and trailed off.

Lily's pursed lips turned into a sly smile as she turned around without a word and walked away, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. Ron tried and failed to look apologetic, even as the girls around him burst into laughter. Including Luna.

* * *

Harry panted as he reached the Great Hall and sat down on a seat Hermione had been kind enough to save for him.

"Thanks," he replied as he took the seat.

"At this point, I'd be surprised if you turn up on time for _any_ event at Hogwarts," Hermione said, sniffing.

"Yeah," Ron said curiously, "You've been late for the Sorting, for the Arrival Ceremony and now the Champions' Selection."

"Mom needed my help with moving a few cauldrons," Harry said quickly, "And… she may have subjected me to an interrogation. Thanks a lot for that, Ron."

"Oi," Ron said with a grin, "I wasn't the one ogling her like she was a piece of meat. She has a _name_ , y'know."

"Oh, _honestly_ ," Hermione chided.

"So," Harry asked quickly, "Has the goblet selected anyone yet?"

"Nah," Ron replied, "It's been glowing blue for a while now; we're all waiting for it to turn red and spit out a name."

As if on cue, the flames hovering over the goblet turned red and spat out a piece of parchment. All eyes were now riveted on the ancient magical artefact.

Albus Dumbledore, who was standing next to the goblet, seized the parchment with his right hand. He then smoothed the piece of paper and read, "The champion for Durmstrang… is Viktor Krum!"

"Hell yes!" Ron roared as the entire school, including the contingent of Durmstrang students, applauded Krum's selection and several girls squealed at once. Harry, who had practically missed the entire Quidditch final, had still managed to catch the Seeker in action in a quarter-final match he had gone to with Ron and Sirius during their summer camp. Harry knew Krum was practically untouchable in the air, though the goblet seemed to think him a potent wizard on the ground as well. Unless the tournament allowed broomsticks, of course.

Krum stepped up from the Slytherin table and trudged over to the Headmaster without so much as a smile on his face. Krum was graciously directed to a small room aft of the Great Hall that Harry had never seen before, much to his surprise.

The goblet's flames were still reddish in hue. It spat out yet another piece of parchment.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore read, and the applause stopped abruptly, "Fleur Delacour!"

"It's _bouillabaisse_ girl, Ron!" Harry said, indicating the beautiful French girl who had asked for leftover _bouillabaisse_ from their table on the night of the Arrival Ceremony, much to Ron's utter befuddlement. The applause for Fleur was much more sedate, though some of the male students couldn't resist hooting as the beautiful girl sauntered past them.

Harry noticed how both the contestants selected so far were final-year students – the goblet was matching up to his expectations; it was obviously selecting the most powerful student in each school. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had only brought a handful of their lower years anyway – most students in their contingent were aged sixteen and above.

He almost felt sorry for Ron, who had stiffened in his chair and appeared to be hyperventilating – Harry knew Ron wished for the goblet to spit out his own name, given his vision in the Mirror of Erised in their first year. Personally, Harry thought Ron's older brothers – Fred or George, who were waiting with bated breath, their faces practically glowing with anticipation – stood a far better chance of being selected, seeing as how they were Sixth Years.

The goblet hissed and spat out yet another parchment. The flames atop the goblet died down and the lights in the hall compensated on cue, brightening up the room considerably.

Dumbledore smiled as he looked down at the parchment. Most of the Hogwarts students tensed.

"The champion for Hogwarts," the venerable Headmaster proclaimed, "Harry Potter!"

 _Wait, what?_

Harry reeled and the entire room blurred. His table burst into raucous applause – which sounded incredibly dull to his ears – along with the non-Gryffindor students, who clapped more sedately. Dimly, he registered that not _one_ person from Slytherin had burst into applause – instead, they seemed to be booing as loudly as they could.

He gaped up at the Head table – Narcissa had a faint smile on her face, while Lily was beaming openly and beckoning to him. Harry stood numbly and, pushed forward by Hermione, walked up to the Headmaster, who in turn pointed at the room to the end of the Hall.

Harry walked right up to said room, stared at the oaken door for a moment, before he opened it and stepped into a surprisingly cosy space.

The two other champions stood near a fire burning in an alcove within the room, looking pretty impressive silhouetted against the bright flame.

Fleur turned towards him expectantly. And Harry noticed, not for the first time, how stunning the girl really was.

"Well?" she asked, "Do zey need us back out? Where is ze Hogwarts champion?"

" _He_ is champion," Viktor grunted, jerking his head at Harry.

"Zis is ze Hogwarts champion?" Fleur asked incredulously, pointing at him. Harry felt a faint swell of indignation. "Zis leetle boy?" she asked.

Harry grit his teeth, but said nothing. It would probably come back to bite him later anyway.

"He is not some boy. It is _him_ ," Viktor said, pointing to his forehead. Harry quickly moved his fringe of hair to the left of his forehead, but Fleur saw his scar anyway.

"Ah," she said with dawning comprehension, " _Le Survivant_."

Harry winced.

Fleur sniffed. "I am not impressed," she said, her tone unexpectedly harsh for a girl with so melodious a voice, "I can only 'ope he makes for a… worthwhile competitor."

It was as if he wasn't even in the bloody _room_.

"Hogwarts and Beauxbatons have history of excellent rivalry," Fleur continued, much to Harry's annoyance – he was surprised at the idea that so beautiful a girl could have such a hostile presence. "Our schools 'ave taken 'ome ze prize most often."

Krum grunted, "Durmstrang has von too," he said.

"We shall see," Fleur said, casting a disdainful look at Harry.

Harry palmed his face. "Pleased to make your acquaintances too," he said sarcastically and turned away resolutely. The door to the room banged open to admit quite a few people, including the Heads of the three schools, McGonagall and two other gentlemen who he was told would be part of the panel of judges for the tournament.

Harry sighed. Just as he thought this school year would be relatively free of drama, the universe seemed to take great pleasure in throwing a monkey wrench his way.

 _But then again_ , a snide, sarcastic part of his mind whispered, _you can't really blame the universe this time around. After all, you forged this monkey wrench all by yourself, genius_.


	9. Interlude: Lily

_A/N: This fic has been abandoned. See previous chapter A/N. Also, I've given my plot notes over to another author on this site - a female, if there ARE any females on the internet. And a female who does NOT write smut. And she's asked me not to disclose her username, so eh, I won't. But if you see a story crop up with a lot of similarities to this, don't be alarmed - it's all with permission. Just FYI.  
_

* * *

 _1978, Surrey_

 _"_ _Lily," Mrs Evans entreated, her brow furrowed in consternation, "I'm not entirely sure you understand, or are even willing to imbibe and reflect upon, the wisdom that I seek to impart."_

 _"_ _Oh, mum, please!" Lily cried, utterly frustrated with her mother's patronizing._

 _"_ _It's not a question of love, darling," Mrs Evans said, "It's a question of_ will _."_

 _"_ _What?" Lily asked._

 _"_ _You forget that your love for James Potter is barely a year old," Mrs Evans reminded her._

 _"_ _A year is way more than enough for me to tell if I love a man, mum," Lily scoffed._

 _"_ _You're being carried away…" Mrs Evans started._

 _"_ _No!" Lily cried indignantly, "Don't you dare accuse James of using some weird, twisted, magic to enslave me to his will. Nothing of the sort ever happened…"_

 _Mrs Evans, nonplussed, interrupted her daughter mid-tirade, "I never accused the man of doing anything of the sort, Lily."_

 _"_ _Petunia did," Lily pointed out._

 _"_ _I'm not Petunia," Mrs Evans said, "And I'm not your father either."_

 _"_ _Dad approves," Lily said at once, latching onto the lifeline her mother had inadvertently dangled in front of her, "He doesn't mind."_

 _"_ _Because he's a romantic, and believes in all that such rapid-fire romance entails," Mrs Evans said, "Lily, I speak from experience, rather than from the midst of a storm of hormones and youthful exuberance. You're not talking about a steady relationship anymore, Lily… you're holding conversations about marriage, for the love of all that is good and holy."_

 _"_ _That's just it, mum," Lily entreated, "I love James. I love, love, love him and – you will forgive this cliché – I cannot see myself living without him. He proposed, and I accepted – it's as simple as that."_

 _"_ _Not quite," Mrs Evans started, but Lily interrupted her._

 _"_ _What?" the younger redhead asked hotly, "What do you think James lacks that makes him less than an ideal husband for your daughter?"_

 _"_ _It's not a question of what he's lacking," Mrs Evans explained with an indulgent smile, "Nor is it, like I said earlier, a question of love, Lily. Consider this – you dated another boy… a Quidditch Beater, if I'm not wrong… in your fifth year…"_

 _"_ _Derrick," Lily gritted out, not quite seeing the relevance. Derrick and she had barely been on two dates, and had hardly even kissed._

 _"_ _Yes, Derrick," Mrs Evans said, "He was a nice boy, wasn't he? Quite gifted at Charms, so you said yourself. A bit boring perhaps, but you shared some tastes. And other tastes differed, as… tastefully… as interests can differ, anyway."_

 _"_ _What's your point?" Lily interjected._

 _"_ _Why don't you marry him?" the older redhead – albeit with quite a few grey hairs amongst the deep red – asked._

 _"_ _What?" Lily said, taken aback by the absurdity of her mother's abrupt question, "That's… I don't even… what?"_

 _"_ _He's a nice boy. Was he lacking in some way?"_

 _"_ _I… no, he wasn't but… I don't even see what this has to do with anything…"_

 _"_ _So what's the difference between James and Derrick? Or are you drawn to James' popularity, his wealth, his standing among wizards and witches of repute?"_

 _"_ _What? No! I'm not drawn to James'… please, mother… I love James. I don't love Derrick. Never did, never will."_

 _Mrs Evans shook her head. "That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you, Lily," she said, "The only thing that stands between a relationship with James, and a relationship with Derrick, for instance, is this flimsy emotion you call love. Worse, it's young love. It takes far, FAR more than just love to sustain a relationship, Lily."_

 _Lily appeared to be stumped, so Mrs Evans took advantage of the momentary lull to continue._

 _"_ _What you're experiencing, Lily, isn't quite the mature love brought on by experience and the firm knowledge of yourself and of your partner and of the world; it's the idealistic attraction that is spawned by – and please don't take offence at the words I'm going to use - youthful arrogance and the ignorant belief that you, and your partner, will forever be unchanged by the ravages of life and time itself. The world changes, Lily – and from what you tell me, your world is suffering through a war, for God's sake! Both you and James shall change, and with that, your mutual affection and regard for each other shall change too. The attraction of your youth – that never really earned the misnomer of 'love' – shall then vanish, and be replaced by resentment of the other's change, and perhaps even hostility."_

 _Lily palmed her face in frustration. "Mum," she said at last, her teeth still gritted in frustration, "James and I are getting married. And that's the end of that. I'm not as disillusioned as you are right now, and I hope I never shall be that disillusioned. Love is more than enough an anchor for me."_

 _"_ _Fair enough," Mrs Evans said with a sigh, "Just remember my words, Lily – it takes far more than just attraction, or even love, to sustain a long-term relationship. It takes a fair amount of will, on part of everyone involved in the relationship – the will to stay together, and the will to exert yourself for each other, even when love is strained by circumstance. I can only hope you and James possess it in spades."_

* * *

 _1981, Godric's Hollow_

 _"_ _James, really?!" Lily screamed, "Really?! You're just going to leave the damn shirt on the ground?!"_

 _"_ _I'm going to do as I damn well please," James said hotly, "This is my house."_

 _"_ _It's my house as well!" Lily contested, "It became my damn house from the moment you made me Mrs. Potter!"_

 _"_ _Perhaps I shouldn't have," James said nonchalantly, "You can't even seem to lift up a damn shirt."_

 _"_ _It's your damn shirt, James. You can lift it up yourself."_

 _"_ _Isn't there more we should be worried about than who picks up a bloody shirt? We're living in the middle of a freaking Fidelius, and we've been forbidden from going out, and I can't even speak to Sirius, and Peter and Remus have been forbidden from contacting me…"_

 _"_ _You think the isolation hasn't taken its toll on me, James?" Lily asked, interrupting James' tirade, "You don't think the lack of contact with friends and family hasn't affected me? My mum's sick, James! I don't even know if she will make it… hell, I don't even know if she's alive now, dammit!"_

 _"_ _Well, go SEE her then!" James roared, "I can take care of my son myself!"_

 _"_ _Fine, then," Lily said in a low voice, trembling with sheer rage, "I'm off. You can have your damn son, James! And then we'd all get to see how well you'd fend for yourself!"_

 _"_ _See?" James said hotly, "This proves it! This proves that you're all about yourself!"_

 _"_ _I see," Lily breathed. She continued, her voice growing louder with every passing syllable, "So that's how it is. This is apparently because I don't value you as much as you value yourself in that overblown head of yours. Because doing all the chores, cleaning up the house, and looking up each and every form of magic that can make us stronger isn't enough to show you that I CARE, IS IT?"_

 _"_ _Care for WHO?" James roared, "ME? OR YOURSELF?"_

 _"_ _How dare you…" Lily started, but James cut her off viciously._

 _"_ _YOU NEVER WANTED HARRY!" James roared._

 _"_ _NO!" Lily screamed, "NO! I never wanted a CHILD, James! I was a Potions mistress, a Charms pioneer, a bloody prodigy at school… and it all went to hell in a handbasket because of YOU!"_

 _"_ _This is ridiculous," James said abruptly, cutting her off, "Frank and Alice probably don't quarrel like this!"_

 _"_ _Oh, and I'm dying to know why that is," Lily said archly._

 _"_ _Well, it's definitely not because Frank refuses to pick up a stupid shirt," James said, "It's probably because Alice is everything that you're not!"_

 _Lily's face turned ashen. "Oh?" she asked in a soft, dangerously low voice, "And what am I not, exactly?"_

 _"_ _A wife who commiserates," James soldiered on, "And more. A mother who cares. A wife who doesn't treat her husband like sh…"_

 _"_ _I DO care for Harry!" she countered, "I'm looking up all these advanced charms, all this advanced magic…"_

 _"_ _It's a bloody excuse," James spat, "A stupid little excuse that you're using to look up arcane concepts that fascinate you. Don't even pretend you're doing this because of your love for MY son. You said it for yourself – 'looking up each and every form of magic that makes ME stronger'. Not Harry. Not me. Just you."_

 _"_ _I said US! Harry's all I have!" Lily cried, "Of course I care for him! I thought I had you, but apparently, you'd rather be over with Alice…"_

 _"_ _Oh shut up," James said abruptly, and picked up his shirt from the recliner. He threw the shirt into the laundry bin, which promptly changed into a box that emitted a keening sound – indicating that his shirt would be washed promptly. "There," James said, turning to Lily, "Satisfied?"_

 _Lily took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. The tense silence was abruptly broken by the sound of Harry's crying. Lily winced and James glared at her. "You forgot to feed him," James said, his voice low, "I left milk right there on the bloody table and you forgot to feed him."_

 _"_ _I was… researching..," Lily stammered._

 _"_ _Whatever," James said, pointing at the bottle of milk and the baby powder by its side._

 _"_ _Fine," she gritted out. She summoned the bottle and the powder, turned on her heel and stormed up the staircase._

 _"_ _Pathetic," James muttered at her retreating back, "Bloody good mother you turned out to be…"_

 _Five minutes later, Lord Voldemort broke through the wards surrounding Godric's Hollow._

* * *

 _After the Champion's Selection, Potions Office_

"First off," Lily said, smiling at Harry as he sat on the chair in front of her desk, "Congratulations on becoming the Hogwarts Champion."

"Not really sure I deserved it," Harry said with an uneasy grin, "Or… earned it."

Lily frowned. She then seemed to cast around for the next topic she evidently wanted to discuss with him. "I…," Lily started awkwardly, "Harry… er… I'm not sure if I'm the right person for this… talk."

Harry stared at his mother. "Talk?" he asked, "Er… what about?"

Lily shifted awkwardly as she stood up from her chair behind the desk. She walked to the window and frowned at the grounds outside.

"You've hit puberty, Harry," Lily said, exasperated, "I hope, for both your… and my sakes, that you see how that normally entails a _talk_."

Harry flushed immediately and winced. "I… er…," he said, pulling at his collar, "I'm…"

"Indeed," Lily grit out.

"Already got the talk from Sirius," Harry said quickly, his face still red, "Er… sort of. I mean, he did go off on a very weird tangent about women with big… er… never mind. But yeah, Ron and I got the talk. From Sirius."

Lily chuckled ruefully. "I'm not sure that's an entirely reassuring thought," she said. She then shuddered and murmured, "Sirius giving a talk. Now there's an idea."

She then glanced at Harry and said, "Harry, there's going to be a lot of feminine attention coming your way – both good and bad – now that you're the Hogwarts Champion. I just… wanted to ask you to be a bit… responsible."

Harry looked nonplussed. "Uh," he asked slowly, "Feminine attention?"

Lily sighed. "For someone who manages to surprise me with his field awareness each time we duel," she said, "You sure are clueless. You're the Hogwarts _Champion_ , Harry. Don't tell me you did not see some of the girls at your table eyeing you up like you were a piece of meat.

"I know you must feel lucky…" Lily started, but trailed off at Harry's sour expression.

"Yeah well, being the Champion isn't all that great," Harry said grumpily.

Lily shrugged. "I did notice Ron sitting at the end of the table away from you guys," she prompted.

"Yeah," Harry said, "The guy said something ridiculous about me hogging the limelight… about me _wanting_ to hog all the limelight and just stomped away to sit with Dean and Seamus."

"He's jealous," Lily said simply.

Harry looked at Lily. He opened his mouth as if he were about to launch into a defence of Ron's character, but stopped. "Hermione said the same thing," he said at last.

"He'll get over it, Harry," Lily assured him, "Which is not to say that Ron's behaviour can be excused; but a year from now, he'll be as ashamed of his behaviour as he should be now."

"I just…," Harry said, "I just miss his company, y'know? Hanging around with the rest of the gang is fun – Ginny seems a lot more willing to talk, Hermione's loosened up a bit, Luna's bonkers, but in a fun way, and Neville's the quiet, shy sort… but it's just not the same without Ron."

"Fair enough," said Lily, "He _is_ your oldest friend, after all. And it probably smarts now, but it's not _your_ fault, Harry."

"Yeah," Harry said and then continued, grumpily, "On that note, I'm not really sure if my selection for the Triwizard Tournament is supposed to excite me or frighten me."

Lily felt slightly disappointed and annoyed. "What?" she asked.

"It's just…," Harry said earnestly, and then looked around as if he was searching for the right words to describe his plight. "It's just that there's so _much_ riding on this… I didn't really think of any of this when I was dropping my name into the goblet."

"So what _were_ you thinking of?" Lily asked, exasperated.

"I guess the same things everyone was thinking of when they dropped their names in," Harry said with a sigh, "Glory. Fame. Riches."

"Why do you think Viktor Krum entered the tournament then?" Lily asked. She sighed internally – she was never really very good at motivational speeches. "He's already got most of what you cited – glory, fame, riches and all that."

"I don't know," Harry said in a thoughtful voice, "Maybe… maybe he wanted to prove that he was more than just a Quidditch star?"

"Perhaps," Lily said, "And from what I know of Fleur Delacour…"

Harry snorted. Lily looked at him questioningly.

He shrugged. "Nothing," he said quickly, "It's just that she was a bit erm…"

"Bitchy?" Lily ventured and giggled as she saw Harry flush. "That's fair," Lily continued, "But I had the opportunity to talk to her shortly after the Beauxbatons contingent's arrival at Hogwarts. It was… illuminating – she didn't seem to be all that up her own arse at all. In fact, she was quite eager to talk about Charms with me…"

"Wait," Harry said, "When did you even talk to her?"

"Like I said, shortly after the Arrival Ceremony," Lily said, "Madame Maxime asked for a bit of help in shoring up a few charms on the carriages, so Filius and I went over to help. A couple of Beauxbatons students pitched in as well, eager to learn – Fleur was one of them. She's quite a delightful conversationalist when she gets going."

Harry looked mighty sceptical at that, so Lily continued, "Anyway, my point was that Fleur Delacour isn't _quite_ in this tournament to bring glory to her name – well, there might be a whole lot of that adding to her motives – but I'm pretty sure _most_ of her motives revolve around overcoming the bias against her… heritage, as it were."

"Heritage?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Something I can identify with very well, I assure you," Lily said, and trailed off.

"Fleur is a _muggleborn_?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Uh," Lily looked a bit uneasy, then said, "It's not for me to say - I don't think even _Fleur_ registered what she let slip – and her secrets are hers to reveal, Harry. But yes, at the end of the day, Fleur is in this tournament, to _prove_ something to herself, in addition to the rest of the world."

"I'm not sure I follow," Harry said.

"Fear of taking part in a tournament of this stature is quite natural, Harry," Lily said, "The trick is – like the other champions – to focus on your _real_ reason for taking part, rather than paying attention to what _others_ expect of you."

"Yeah, well," Harry snapped, "That only works if I was actually _thinking_ of something when I put my name into the goblet."

"A man can't really stop _thinking_ , Harry," Lily said, her eyes boring into Harry, "Isn't there an ideal you hold dear? Something you strive for?"

"If you're expecting me to say ' _perfection_ ' or ' _power_ ' or something equally corny…" Harry muttered.

Lily sighed, disappointed. "Fair enough," she said, "But like I said, there's a _reason_ you strive to be better, Harry. Whatever compels you, whatever drives you, whatever you yearn for – find it, know it and treasure it. I have a feeling it'll come in handy during the course of this tournament… and beyond."

* * *

 _Later, Albus Dumbledore's Office_

Lily paced back and forth across the Headmaster's Office, and even Fawkes' low croon was not enough to get her to calm down.

"I _know_ he's my son, Albus," Lily said vehemently, barely even looking up at the Headmaster, who was merely watching her and running his fingers through his long beard, "I know that he's Harry Potter, the son of James and Lily Potter. I know who I am, I know what I must do, I know I must care for him."

She glanced at Dumbledore and sighed. "But it's so hard, Albus," she said, "It's so damn hard. I look up at him, reach for an emotion that seems like it belonged in another lifetime… and that emotion simply isn't _there_. All that's there is a void."

"But you _do_ care for him," Albus said firmly.

"I do," Lily agreed with a slow nod, "Hell, I like teaching Harry – I think he's a very diligent student and it gives me great pleasure to see him internalise my lessons and learn from them. But that… that _feeling_ … today - he was fishing around for criticism of his choice to participate in the tournament, for some sort of motivation… and I didn't _care_ , Albus. I just felt bored halfway through the conversation and thought that Harry was pathetic for even doubting his selection as Triwizard Champion. Hell, I started comparing him unfavourably against the other champions! And what sort of mother _thinks_ that? What sort of mother thinks that her son is a wimp for harbouring some self-doubt in his teenage years? What sort of mother enjoys foisting lessons upon her son that _she's_ interested in, but shirks from her duty when he admits to feeling something she's not interested in?"

Albus sighed deeply. "I'm not denying the fact that the deep magic you summoned during your ordeal with Lord Voldemort had no effect on your relationship with Harry. All magic – all ancient and powerful magic – takes a toll of some sort. Usually, that levy is short-lived – it manifests itself as magical exhaustion, and passes with time. But the particular species of magic that you employed, Lily, would, by its very nature, extract a heavy toll indeed.

"However," Albus said, holding up his hands stalling Lily's attempt to speak, "I wouldn't be overly concerned for two, very specific reasons. One – you're worried and anxious about your inability to exploit a deep-seated maternal instinct towards Harry. And that seems to imply that your ability to express affection, your morality and your sense of right and wrong are perfectly in order. You are still a good person, Lily. You're making an _effort_.

"Second, and I believe you know of this as well as I do – the blood wards around Godric's Hollow strengthen when both you and Harry are present within their reach. This is not an insignificant detail – blood wards that draw upon the specific kind of protection you used for Harry would not strengthen if there were not some sort of affectionate bond between you and your son."

Lily stared into the fire for a moment, before her eyes cleared, with some sliver of hope seeping into them.

"So you think it shall pass, Albus?" she asked.

"I do not know," the Headmaster confessed. He stood up from his chair and gestured to a spot on the wall, which immediately opened to form a small window that seemed to grant him a full, if distant, view of Hogsmeade. "Like I've said time and again, I'm not omniscient. I believe your maternal instinct has dulled, perhaps, but not completely vanished or dead. Draw strength from this knowledge. Investigate. Study. Learn. Push yourself to be a better mother, if that is your wish.

"And do be careful, Lily," Albus said, turning to her and looking over his half-moon spectacles at Lily, "For now, circumstances are conducive for a bit of maternal bonding – these are times of peace, of contentment, of indolence. But I fear that the onset of adversity may strain such already frayed emotions, stretching them beyond repair – be very conscious of the fact that you do not distance yourself from him, especially in times of pain, or of difficulty. For it is in times of adversity that our relationships with one another are truly tested."

Lily nodded firmly. "I won't abandon him," she said with confidence that she did not quite feel.

"Easier said than done, Lily," Albus said, looking back through the window and staring wistfully at the smoke trailing from the chimney of the Hog's Head.

* * *

 _A/N: Just a little look into Lily's past. Might do more of these interludes in the future as the story goes on._


End file.
